Horn of Amalthea
by Remasa
Summary: The White Collar division has a new case when a priceless jeweled horn is stolen from a private residence. Unbeknownst to them, the object is actually a dangerous wizard artifact. Two worlds collide as Harry and his friends must team up with the FBI to recover it while hiding their true identities from Muggles.
1. Here Today, Horn Tomorrow

_**Horn of Amalthea**_

_A Harry Potter/White Collar crossover story_

**Synopsis:** The White Collar division has a new case when a priceless jeweled horn is stolen from a private residence. Unbeknownst to them, the object is actually a dangerous wizard artifact. Two worlds collide as Harry and his friends must team up with the FBI to recover it while hiding their true identities from Muggles.

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><p><em><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Harry Potter and all affiliated names, places, spells, and characters belong to J. K. Rowling (and I think Warner Bros/Universal Studios?) Anyway, they're not mine and I didn't earn any money off of this story. White Collar and all affiliated names, places, characters, and cons belong to the USA Network, a part of Universal Studios company. Again: no money was earned by anyone as a result of my work here._

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><p><em><strong>Spoilers<strong> _

**_Harry Potter Spoilers:_** Takes place about 5 years after the final chapter of book 7 and disregards the epilogue (I try to stay true in spirit, however I couldn't have certain characters in the middle of having a family when I send them halfway across the world on exciting missions). Pairings are canon. Also **DISREGARDS THE FACTUAL TIMELINE** of Harry Potter. This takes place in the wonderfully vague and ever-changing timeframe of "present day" and NOT in 2003 or whenever 5 years after the final battle took place.

**_White Collar Spoilers:_** Takes place about 6 months after Season 2 and disregards anything that has happened in season 3, as I began writing this before season 3 aired. The Music Box saga has concluded, and our team has Moved On.

Finally, this story has been pre-read and semi-beta'ed by LetheSara. Thank you for your helpful advice!

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><p><em>Chapter 1: Here Today, Horn Tomorrow<em>

Neal Caffrey sat back in his cushioned chair with a sigh of contentment and flipped open the newspaper. He casually scanned the articles as he took a sip of his coffee.

Well, technically it wasn't _his_ cushioned chair. Or his newspaper. Or his coffee. Okay, the coffee was his but the delicate porcelain cup he drank from was not. They all belonged to June, one of his favorite people in the world and not just because she opened her home (and late husband's wardrobe) to him but mainly because she didn't care that he was a conman. Used to be a conman. "Still occasionally likes to brush up on his skills" man. He sipped a bit more of the wonderful coffee before turning the pages.

"Neal?" June's voice floated from inside his apartment. The guest apartment attached to her house that she rented to Neal for an abysmally low price, much to the chagrin of Peter Burke, the FBI agent in charge of making sure Neal didn't escape from his tracking anklet. Initially recruited to help the FBI solve a case, Peter struck an unusual deal with Neal: help solve more cases and stay out of jail. It was a deal that didn't need too much convincing for Neal. Now, the two had forged a tentative friendship that had only grown closer over the past couple of years. "Ah, there you are," she smiled, spotting him on the terrace outside. "You have a guest this morning." She stepped aside and Peter walked out onto the patio.

"Peter," Neal greeted with a smile. "Want some coffee?"

"Don't mind if I do," he replied, sitting at the table with Neal. He reached over, grabbed a cup and poured himself one. "Would you like to join us, June?"

"Oh no, thank you," she replied genially. "I was just about to head to the store for a bit of shopping. Neal, is there anything you would like me to pick up for you while I'm out?"

"No, thanks, June. I'm okay."

With another warm farewell, June left the apartment as Peter sipped the coffee.

"This is good," he complimented to Neal.

"Thanks. It's Blue Mountain. Imported directly from Jamaica and absolutely divine." Neal studied Peter over the newspaper as Peter busied himself with arranging the coffee saucer and plate of fruit on the table.

"It is good," Peter agreed. They sat in silence for the next few minutes as Peter snatched the sports section from the pile on the table and began reading. The wind tousled Neal's hair and rustled the edges of their papers.

Finally, Neal couldn't take it anymore. He folded his paper and set it aside. "What?" he demanded.

"What what?" Peter replied innocently.

"I'm the one asking questions," Neal said. "What are you doing here?"

"Enjoying breakfast. And reading the sports section of the paper."

"You never come to just 'enjoy breakfast'. What's up? A case?"

Peter folded his paper and set it beside Neal's. "Yeah," he admitted with a sigh. "Another case."

Neal unfolded his arms in confusion. "Why didn't you just call me on the phone like you always do? 'Caffrey, get to the office ASAP'," he mocked in an over-the-top imitation of Peter.

"I do not talk like that," Peter protested. Neal just looked at him in disbelief. "Besides, I thought if you got to enjoy your morning and relax for a few minutes that would be more conducive to your consultations with the Bureau." After Neal just continued to stare at him with a look of utter disbelief on his face, Peter finally gave up. "It was Elizabeth's idea," he confessed, referring to his wife. She had a soft spot for Neal. "But forget it. I'll tell her it didn't work." He stood up brusquely and picked up the saucer and newspaper. "Get moving. There's a meeting in my office in twenty minutes."

With a sigh, Neal picked himself up off the chair and grabbed his hat. "Time to catch some bad guys," he grinned at Peter. As usual, Peter just rolled his eyes and ushered Neal out the door.

* * *

><p>"Who here knows anything about the Horn of Amalthea?" Peter asked, pacing in front of the conference table. Diana, Jones, Neal and one or two others sat around, looking at the projector screen in front of them. Neal raised his hand. "Anyone besides Neal? Okay, Neal, what do you know about the Horn of Amalthea?"<p>

"What don't I know?" Neal replied with a grin. "A priceless artifact modeled after the mythical horn of Greek mythology. Also known as the Horn of Plenty. The horn itself is carved from white moonstone, which gives it an ethereal iridescent shimmer. The tip and opening edge are plated in 24 karat gold, as is a thin chain designed for carrying. The body of the horn is carved with scenes of the Greek god Zeus playing with Amalthea, the mythical goat who raised him as a child. Those images are embedded with other countless jewels and precious metals. All in all, a breathtaking piece. Easily worth millions."

"Thank you, Neal," Peter said. "Might I ask why you never went after this horn if it's so valuable?"

Neal took a deep breath with a casual shrug. "To be honest, this thing has popped in and out of so many hands it was hard to keep track of it. At times it was even thought to be as mythical as the stories from which it originated. It's hard to steal something when your contacts believe it is nonexistent."

Peter grinned widely at him. "Well, for once it appears you've been outdone." He clicked his remote and a picture of the horn appeared. "Ladies and gentlemen, as of this morning, the Horn of Amalthea has been officially stolen."

* * *

><p>Several thousand kilometers and one large ocean away, Harry Potter poured himself an afternoon cup of tea from his Ever-Warm Cascading Teapot and flipped open the file that appeared on his desk during his lunch break.<p>

"Hey Harry, whatcha got there?" Ron Weasley popped his head inside the door and peered to read the folder upside down.

"New case, I think," Harry mused, setting the file down for Ron to see.

Ron grabbed the file and headed to the round table and sat down. Rolling his eyes, Harry picked up his steaming, always fresh-brewed tea and headed over to join Ron at the table. "Should I call Hermione?" Ron asked, looking up.

Harry shrugged. "Might as well." He took out his wand and flicked it, summoning some biscuits and a chilled jug of pumpkin juice for Ron, who hated tea. Ron left the room only to return moments later with Hermione Granger, now Hermione Weasley, in tow.

"When did you get this?" Hermione asked, helping herself to a cup of tea from Harry's magical pot.

Harry shrugged. "It was on my desk when I got back from lunch. We decided to get you before really reading it. It looks like another case."

Hermione bent her head over the paper, her wavy hair falling down over her ears.

"Blimey, let us read it, too," Ron protested, sliding beside her.

Harry continued to drink his tea. "Just fill me in on the case. I'll read the details later."

Hermione looked up at them. "It looks like a lead came up on a new magical item. There's not much in here on it, except there was a report of a Muggle reporting the item stolen from his home in America."

"America? We're going overseas?" Ron asked.

Hermione nodded once. "So it seems. We leave in the morning."

"_Wicked_," Ron breathed, his eyes lighting up in excitement.

"No time for that, Ron," Hermione said abruptly. "We need to get packing. Let's go."

She left the office, no doubt to head to the Floo network that lead to the streets of London and their home. Hermione insisted on living in a non-magical community, to help bridge the gap between both worlds when they were eventually ready for children. Smiling, Harry grabbed the file and began to read it more thoroughly. Before he got too far, however, he sat back with his lukewarm tea and reflected on the past couple of years.

For several years, he, Ron and Hermione had become Aurors, tracking down dozens of dark wizards and witches. Lately, however, the numbers had dwindled to the point where the Auror department decided to branch out. Harry, partially bored of performing the same defensive spells over and over again, had volunteered to head up one of the new branches: Department of Magical Artifacts. Quite similar to the Misuse of Magical Items department, the Auror branch focused exclusively on the acquisition of dangerous wizard artifacts so they wouldn't fall into the wrong hands. Mainly, dark wizard hands.

Hermione and Ron joined without second thought and Hermione preened at the possibility of finally using her rune translating skills. They traveled around the country neutralizing potential threats. They destroyed some of the exceedingly dangerous artifacts upon discovery but brought back many more to the Ministry for study in the vaults by other wizards and witches.

_Hmm,_ Harry mused as he drained the last of his tea, _this will be the first time I've been to America. It's somewhat surprising considering how many artifacts get smuggled across the pond._

Indeed, though the three of them spent the last couple of years traveling, they were always within distance of home. Harry was never away from his wife, the former Ginny Weasley, for more than a couple of days. This new case might take weeks, or even months. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he put on a game face and redirected his attentions to the file in his hands.

_I have to study this file before we head to America._ In the back of his mind, he wondered if he was just stalling before telling Ginny the news. _Nonsense!_ He scoffed. Still, when he finally did pack up and head home, it was with idle thoughts of if he would arrive the next morning covered in hexes.

Thankfully, when Harry walked into the office the next morning, it was hex-free and he was actually smiling. Despite his trepidation, Ginny had been thrilled to get some "alone time with the girls" as she put it. She helped him pack with a cheery hop in her step and even made sure Harry had all of the right Muggle clothes for late September in New York City.

The door to his office opened and Ron bounded in, followed by Hermione. Ron cheerfully waved to Harry and bid him good morning but Hermione still had her head bent over her pack.

"Ron," she muttered, "I'm still thinking we missed something. I packed my runic translation books, a few on defense so we can brush up, one or two on American Muggle customs, Muggle clothes..." she trailed off as she entered, looking up. "Hello, Harry. Are you ready?"

He nodded. "It doesn't sound like you are, though," he said, motioning to her bag.

She made a face in reply. "Giving us only a night to pack. It's mental!"

"'Mione, we're going to be somewhere civilized. We can always pick up any magical items we might have forgotten from their wizarding community once we arrive in the States. We're going to be late for our departure, though, if you don't hurry."

That seemed to jar her into her senses. "Oh goodness, you're right! We need to hurry."

She grabbed Ron's arm and dragged him out of the room. With one last chuckle, Harry grabbed his Always-Hot Bottomless Travel Mug filled with sugary tea, shut his door and trailed after the two.

"Ow!" Ron protest, shaking his arm free of Hermione's tugging. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"Portkey Transit Authority," came the prompt reply. "Any other means of travel takes much too long or the distance is too great. Now hurry, the lift is here."

They stepped inside the giant elevator that dropped fast enough to make Harry's stomach lurch. Gulping his tea to settle his nerves, he leaned against the walls until they had safely stopped and the doors opened.

"Good morning my bright-eyed travelers," a perky voice greeted once they stepped out.

Harry groaned. "Really, Ian, is this the time?"

Ian Harrington, one of their fellow Aurors, grinned back at Harry. "Sorry, I couldn't resist," he replied in a normal voice. "I thought a bit of cheer might get you into the spirit of your trip."

"Not at this ungodly hour," Harry said.

Ian shrugged. "It's still dark in the States. That will give me plenty of time to catch you up on this case before porting. The Aurors briefed me on your situation and I'm to escort you to the Portkey room until you leave.

"Why you?" Harry asked. While it was standard procedure to have an Auror brief them on cases before departing, it was unusual to see Ian assigned to the task.

He shrugged. "The higher ups felt it was my unit's turn. We drew lots. I lost. Anyway, all of the information for your lodging is all in the packet I gave Hermione."

"Hey," Ron protested, "why did you give it to her and not one of us?"

Ian grinned. "I don't relish the idea of having to Owl Post new information to you in the middle of the case."

"One time!" Ron cried, his ears turning pink. "That happened one time and it was fully justified."

Ian shrugged again and turned away. "Wouldn't have happened if you put it in the Expandable Bag assigned to you. Besides, she's your wife. Why are you getting so upset?"

Ron mumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "lock me out of the hotel room" which Harry didn't fully catch but Hermione must have because she elbowed Ron sharply.

"Anyway," Ian said, leading them down the hallway, "you're scheduled to meet with the American liaison wizard at 8:00." He turned and grinned at them. "New York is five hours behind us. Your timepieces will magically adjust, of course."

They arrived in a large room barren except for an empty beer bottle set on the floor. Harry recognized the distinctive red triangle as one of the more popular Muggle beer brands. Ian conjured some chairs and settled himself down in one. "Your portkey isn't scheduled for another forty-five minutes. Relax."

"Why did you tell us we had to be here now, then?" Hermione asked.

Ian merely smiled. "Better safe than sorry. And the Aurors wanted to make sure you knew this case inside and out. So have a seat and tell me what you know."

Pleased to be able to show off her knowledge, Hermione happily perched on the edge of a plush chair. "We're seeking the Horn of Amalthea," she began. Harry quickly joined them in his own chair. Though he had scanned through the file, Hermione would have memorized every line. He used this opportunity to pay attention and absorb any information he might have missed. Ron exchanged a knowing look with him and also sat, ready to pay attention. Harry wondered idly if he should take notes.

"It's a magical horn that grants the wielder unlimited amounts of one material thing they want. It's based off of the mythical Horn of Amalthea. This horn was designed over four hundred years ago by an unknown wizard and is encrusted with priceless gems and jewels. It has changed hands multiple times but for some reason always keeps disappearing into the Muggle world."

"It's the jewels on it," Harry said. "Muggles are attracted to it. They find value in it just like a wizard, only for a different reason."

"Intentional, I'm sure," Ian remarked. "A clever disguise added by the maker. Kind of like the anti-Muggle charms, this one ensures that the horn remains solidly in Muggle hands."

"But why?" asked Ron.

Hermione answered him. "Because the spell enchanted on the horn only works for a witch or wizard. Muggles only see it as a priceless and valuable artifact. In fact, I'm surprised it wasn't put on display at some museum."

Ian smiled. "Been there, done that. Been stolen more times than I can count. All by Muggles, of course."

"So what happened to get it back on our radar?" Harry asked. That information hadn't been included in the file.

Ian leaned forward. "Yesterday, a Muggle reported the horn stolen from his private collection. Our American friends indicated that they believe a wizard is behind the scenes, attempting to acquire it. But they didn't say why they thought this."

"I take it this is not a good wizard associated with the Aurors?" Harry asked.

Ian shook his head. "The American branch of Magical Artifacts had no idea where this horn was. Their focus is currently on other artifacts in the country and if they had 're-acquired' the horn, they wouldn't have contacted us."

"Why _did_ they contact us? The Americans have their own branch and this is clearly in their jurisdiction, so why call us?"

Ian leaned back. "Their branch is currently spread thin across the country. In fact, they only have one wizard in the office right now and you will meet him later today. He has his own case he's working on, something about a curse attached to a blue diamond in their famous Smithsonian museum-"

"The Hope Diamond?" Hermione interrupted.

Ian nodded. "Yes, I believe that is what they called it. Anyway, he'll help you if you need it but they called us asking for some assistance. His name is Justin Moretti and he can fill you in a bit more on the theft."

"Will we be working with Muggles?" Harry asked.

Ian frowned. "I'm not sure," he replied thoughtfully. "Honestly, Justin might know more about that when you meet up with him." He glanced at his watch. "Oh! It's almost time for your portkey to activate. I wonder where the transportation wizard is?"

On cue, a tall reedy man with wild hair dashed into the room.

"Gather around the Bass bottle," he shrieked in a high-pitched voice, waving his arms in a rush. Harry wondered if he was going to have a heart attack right then. The man certainly sounded as if he hadn't taken a decent holiday in decades.

The three stood up and each touched a tip of their finger to the empty beer bottle.

"One last thing," Ian said. "You have authorization to destroy this artifact. If possible, study it the best you can before destroying it. But in the end, it's too dangerous in the hands of a dark wizard. Well, that's my cue. Good luck."

_Authorization to destroy?_ Harry thought. That was only given in special circumstances. In fact, they had only destroyed a few artifacts in their career, not counting the Horcruxes their final year in school. A sharp yank around his midsection sent any other thoughts spiraling along with the rest of his body. As usual, it felt like hours as Harry's head swam with dizziness and he fought nausea.

Just as suddenly, it ended.

He landed on something bouncy. Looking down, he realized he stood in another large room with a floor filled with squashy red cushions. That explained his soft landing. Beside the cushions stood a dark-haired man in blue robes.

"Hello," he greeted warmly. "I'm Justin Moretti, American branch of the Magical Artifacts. Pleased to meet you." After introductions had been made, Justin led them through the corridors. "I'm sure you guys will want to settle into your hotel. We booked you in a Muggle one, unfortunately but that was unavoidable we felt. You'll be corresponding with the local law enforcement, specifically, the Federal Bureau of Investigation, or the FBI."

"How did they get involved?" Hermione asked.

Justin pushed open a door and stepped through, holding it open for the others. "The owner of the horn called them immediately after it was stolen. He's rich and naturally has a lot of clout. By the time I arrived there, they were in so deep it would have been nearly impossible to erase their memories and adjust the crime scene. It's probably better this way."

"How are we going to justify our presence here?" Hermione asked. "We're British."

Justin handed her a thin folder. "I've prepared your cover story. You're representatives of a private owner who reported the horn stolen over ten years ago. The current owner acquired the horn only in the last three years and from another Muggle buyer. Beyond that, the horn had vanished into oblivion. We adjusted the records to reflect your story, in case they check and had your branch infiltrate Scotland Yard to add in the stolen report filed ten years prior."

They reached another room. Justin flicked his left wrist back and a wand popped out of his sleeve. He withdrew it and waved it before opening the door. He snapped his wand back to his wrist and pushed it back into his sleeve with a soft click.

"That's brilliant," Ron remarked. Justin beamed at him.

"Thanks! I designed it myself. I used to carry my wand in my back pocket but one time I nearly snapped it, so that's when I designed this device." He pushed open a door which had several tunnels in it. It resembled the Tube – the Muggle underground transit subway in London. "This is the Floo station. It's interconnected with the subway, so it's very easy and inconspicuous to send our wizards in and out anywhere in the city." He pointed to one doorway off to the side. "You'll take that one. It will bring you to the stop closest to your hotel. It's only a couple of blocks away from there, so just follow the map I gave you."

"Thanks, Justin," Harry said.

The American grinned at them. "It's no problem. Glad to be able to help. It's my first time working with overseas Aurors."

"Ours, too," Ron admitted. Normally, the team contacted foreign Aurors when in a country but never actually corresponded with them.

"If you need anything, you can send me an Owl, or a patronus if it's urgent. I'm working on a counter-curse for the Hope Diamond at the moment, as there is a rumor it might be changing hands once again but aside from that, I'm here to help if needed."

"Do you have any suggestions for our next move?" Hermione asked. "Should we visit the crime scene?"

Justin shook his head. "No, the FBI will have cordoned that off. Best to touch base with them first. They might be able to give you a better idea of what's going on. I think a Muggle stole the horn, however, with the intention of selling or giving it to a wizard."

"What makes you say that?" Harry asked.

Justin shrugged. "Just a hunch. But regardless if there is a wizard behind the scenes, this is an item that needs to be back in our possession. It's too dangerous for it to be floating about in the world."

"We have authorization to destroy the artifact," Harry said.

Justin seemed startled at this. "Oh, I wasn't told about that. Do you have a way to destroy it?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, we have a couple of weapons wrought from goblin silver."

"Okay, that will do. It's a shame really. The horn is a fascinating piece of work."

"It's for the best," Hermione said.

Justin sighed a bit wistfully. "Yeah but still. If you ever get to see it in person, you'll know what I mean. Such a shame. It will be quite a loss."

"You've seen it in person?" Ron asked in surprise.

"Sort of. I saw it through a memory once during Auror training."

"Oh."

Justin checked his watch. "Well, I must be off. It's still quite early in the states but I need to head to Washington DC to get some more information on the curse surrounding the Hope Diamond. I've narrowed it down to four potential curses but a counter-curse needs to be as specific as possible."

"How are you getting close to the diamond?" Hermione asked, curious. "I thought it was under strict security."

"I'm posing as a renowned jeweler bidding to reset the diamond. I'm able to examine the diamond under careful supervision but it is enough to glean bits of information."

"Will it be enough to discover a counter-curse?" Hermione pressed.

Justin shrugged modestly. "Probably. I'm one of the best counter-cursers in the American Auror office. It's my specialty." He stuck out his hand. "Well, I best be off. Good luck to you all."

"Thanks, you too," Harry said, giving Justin's hand a firm shake.

Justin turned on the spot and Apparated out of the room with a loud pop while the three turned and stepped through the subway turnstile.

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><p><em><strong>Author's Note:<strong>_ This story is complete and will be updated at a pace of one chapter per week (on Saturdays). The chapters are all about this length.


	2. When Worlds Collide

_Chapter 2: When Worlds Collide_

"And you expect me to believe that?" asked one very disbelieving FBI agent as he walked up the stairs to the entrance to the office.

"Peter, I asked Mozzie. And Alex. Neither of them heard anything about the horn," Neal replied. Sighing, Peter held open the door and motioned Neal ahead. "Sorry, but there's not even a rumor on the streets."

"A priceless antique gets stolen, its theft splashed across the front page of every major newspaper in the nation and not one of your sketchy contacts knows anything? Forgive me if I don't play the part of the gullible fool here."

"Okay, first of all: sketchy? Name calling is so unnecessary here," Neal began. At Peter's pointed glare, Neal continued, "Fine, I'll give you 'sketchy'. But second, Moz and Alex know who to talk to. If they say there are no fish nibbling at the bait, then the waters are clear, my man."

"I am not 'your man'," Peter replied through gritted teeth. He smacked the button on the elevator and put his hands on his hips while he waited for it to descend. "What does this mean?"

"It means that there is either a buyer already lined up, or that the thief is the one who desires the horn," an unfamiliar voice answered from behind the two. Peter and Neal turned to see two men and a woman standing there. The speaker, a bespectacled man with unruly dark hair, smiled and stuck out a hand. "Good morning, I'm Harry Potter and these are my colleagues Ronald and Hermione Weasley."

Neal shook his hand with a charming smile and introduced himself as "Neal Caffrey, special consultant with the FBI" but Peter merely eyed them with disapproval. "And who are you?"

The young man's features furrowed into a confused frown. "But I thought I just introduced myself."

Peter's lips thinned impatiently and his mouth opened to snap a sharp retort when Hermione stepped in and smoothly stuck out her hand, shaking Neal's. "Forgive my partner but we're private investigators, of sorts," she explained.

"From Britain?" Neal questioned, noting her accent.

Hermione smiled at him. "Yes. We're investigating the Horn of Amalthea on behalf of a client."

"Oh? Why would we be of help?" Peter asked.

"Your guard at the front desk told us you might be in soon. He gave us your name, Agent Burke," Ron jumped in, gesturing towards the entrance. "We heard the FBI had gotten involved."

"And what claim does your client have to the horn?" Peter asked.

"Ten years ago, it was stolen from his home," Hermione explained. "We have the police report here, filed at Scotland Yard at the time of the theft. If the horn is found, our client has the rights to it, regardless of current ownership." She handed a sheet of paper to Peter, who took it, glanced it over and then folded it up and stuck it in his jacket pocket.

"If you're so well-informed, then you should know that it was stolen from the home of a respectable client. Are you suggesting he was involved in the acquisition of stolen artifacts?" Peter asked.

Harry shrugged. "He might not have known about it. Perhaps we should go ask him how he got the horn in the first place?"

"Okay, let's get something straight here," Peter began. "This is our investigation. The FBI does not work with civilians-" Neal coughed pointedly, to which Peter answered with a glare but otherwise ignored the interruption, "- and on the rare occasion that we do, what makes you think you three are to be included in our investigation?"

Hermione looked crestfallen. "We were kind of hoping you would be able to give us some information. Our client is most anxious about the horn, especially after all these years."

Neal hid a grin, knowing that distraught women were Peter's Kryptonite. When Peter turned helplessly to the ex-con, Neal smiled and took Hermione's hand gently in his own.

"Don't let his gruff demeanor turn you off," he offered as an apology. "Peter's one of the best agents in the field. And he would be happy to add three more consultants to this investigation."

"I would _what_?" Peter burst out.

"Peter, did you have something else to say to Mrs. Weasley?" Neal questioned innocently.

Peter ground his teeth again, glancing back and forth between Neal's clever blue eyes and Hermione's watery brown ones. "Not a thing!" he said with false cheeriness, pasting a plastic smile on his face. "Go on out front. I'll be out in a moment. There are some things I need to wrap up at the office."

"Thank you so much, Agent Burke!" Hermione gushed. Peter grumbled something unintelligible. The elevator door finally dinged open and Peter shoved Neal into the elevator, jabbing a button. Right before the doors closed, Hermione met Neal's eyes and mouthed "thank you" with a secretive grin. He winked at her and tipped the brim of his hat.

"Nice going, Hermione," Harry praised once the doors had closed entirely.

"Thanks. I was just glad Agent Burke's consultant caught on so quickly. I hope he warms up to us soon, or this might prove to be all the more difficult for us."

* * *

><p>"What were you thinking?" Peter exploded once the elevator began to ascend. He pursed his lips into a thin line and glared at Neal. "You have no authority to permit those three to tag along on our investigation! Need I remind you that you are a consultant and not an actual agent?"<p>

Neal sighed. "You remind me of this daily. But you're right. I'm sorry for acting out of line. I'll let you go back down and tell them that they cannot come along with us."

"No!" Peter turned to Neal, aghast. All appearances of his annoyance melted away. "Did you see the way that woman started to tear up? She's a professional, for crying out loud! Hasn't she ever heard of composure?"

"They might be useful. They know something of the horn, it seems."

Peter reached into his jacket and unfolded the copy of the police report Hermione had handed him. "Yeah, that doesn't sit right with me. Here," he said, handing Neal the paper, "your punishment is to check out their story with Scotland Yard."

"This is clerical work!" he protested.

"And you've got five minutes. Or else you get to stay behind while I take those three on a tour of the crime scene."

"I'm on it." The doors dinged open and Neal all but sprinted to his desk, burying his head at the computer and typing at a frantic pace. Peter smirked. He still had the touch.

Five minutes later, Neal and Peter rode the elevator down to the lobby. "It's legit," Neal declared. "Leon Kensington reported the horn stolen from his estate ten years ago. No leads were ever found and the case has been cold for all these years."

Peter nodded, satisfied with the answer. "I briefed Diana and Jones on the latest developments and are having them run background checks on those three."

"You don't trust them?"

Peter thought for a long moment. "I don't know. Just something about them seems... off."

"They seem nice enough to me."

"My gut tells me there is more to this picture."

Neal held up his hands in mock surrender. "And if there is one thing I have learned about you – aside from everything else I already know – it is not to question the gut."

Peter played along. "It's a gift. Maybe I should rent out a shop on one of the corners here. What do you think? I bet I'm more accurate than half of these so-called psychics."

Neal smiled. "Between you and I, we could make a lot of money."

"And that's the reason I will never go into business with you. I couldn't face the boys at the water cooler if one day a case file about myself appeared on the desk."

"It would be a sensational story. _FBI Agent Arrests Self in Embezzlement Scheme._" Neal held up his hands as if envisioning the headline in front of him.

"Embezzlement?" Peter questioned, wincing.

"Extortion?"

"Me?"

"Fraud?"

"Mmm…that would be more like it. We would be the hottest gossip in the FBI for years."

Neal chuckled as the doors dinged open. "Peter, we already _are_ the hottest gossip at the FBI."

They found the three standing around near the entrance. Harry and Hermione struggled to contain laughter while Ron gulped something out of a flask.

"Disgusting," Ron remarked, tucking the flask back into his navy suit jacket. "I don't know how you can stand them, Harry. Worst sweet ever."

"What is?" Neal asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Jelly beans," answered Harry, tossing one into his mouth.

"I don't mind them," Peter said. "There's always a bit of variety."

Hermione and Harry exchanged grins while Ron's face brightened to a fascinating shade of pink. "You took the words right out of my mouth, Agent," Hermione agreed. "Care for one?" Harry held out the suede bag to him.

"Oh, sure!" Neal exclaimed, sticking his hand in the bag while Peter waved his in polite decline. Neal picked out a black one and stuck it in his mouth. "I love licorice," he began, even as his features contorted into a grimace. He gulped it down but the revolted look remained.

"Problem, Agent?" Harry asked innocently, popping a lime green one in his own mouth.

"That tasted like coal," said Neal, straightening his shoulders in indignation.

Harry examined a black one before eating it. "Tastes like licorice to me," he said with a shrug. "Maybe you're coming down with a cold. I hear that can make things taste funny."

Peter had been watching the exchange. "Okay, now I'm curious. I'll take one, too." He stuck his hand in and withdrew a light pink jelly bean. After a few moments of careful chewing with an odd look on his face, Neal smirked triumphantly at the three.

"See!" he preened. "It wasn't just me! What does yours taste like?"

Peter swallowed before answering. "Strawberry cream," he declared at last. "It's quite delicious, actually. Almost like there's real cream and strawberry juice in it." Neal's face fell as the other three burst out laughing.

"My favorite," Hermione complimented, a bit envious. "Those are rare enough to find."

"Well, now that we've all gotten our share of the jelly beans, what do you say we take a walk and visit the crime scene?" Peter suggested.

"Sounds wonderful." Ron declared. As Peter led them out onto the street, Ron pulled Neal aside and whispered, "Don't worry. I don't like jelly beans, either." Then caught up to his friends, leaving Neal a bit confused over his coal tasting licorice. And a bit dejected. He _loved_ licorice.

* * *

><p>"Agent Burke!" a distinguished gentleman with wavy brown hair dressed in a three piece suit greeted the five after Peter rang the bell. "Please, come in."<p>

"Thank you, Mr. Atherton," Peter said, stepping inside the house.

"Let's talk in my parlor, where we can all fit comfortably."

True to his word, William Atherton refrained from any explanations until he brought them to the parlor where his horn had been stolen. As he led the way, Harry tried to keep track of the long winding pathway that wove through the house.

_Mansion would be more appropriate_, Harry thought, gazing around in awe. For a Muggle, this man had acquired an impressive collection of art and historical items and his multi-tiered home boasted wrought-iron gates, an expansive winding driveway and no less than three gushing fountains.

As Atherton forged ahead, Harry noticed Peter grab Neal's arm and slow.

"Neal, play nice," Peter warned in a low voice.

Neal smiled with such angelic innocence that Harry knew he couldn't be up to any good. It reminded him of the expression Draco Malfoy used to flash at him right before Snape deducted ten points from Gryffindor.

"What?" Neal asked, his voice reflecting injured pride. "I always play nice."

Peter flattened his brow. "Atherton has impressive clout in the FBI. We don't need him to cause trouble."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"He's an art dealer. With your past history, you two must have at least heard of each other."

"Everyone's heard of me."

"Neal, all I'm asking is for you to behave."

"Have you made any more progress on the theft of my horn?" Atherton turned around and asked, effectively ending any further conversation between Peter and Neal.

"Actually, that's what we came here for," Peter said. "Please, allow me to introduce my colleagues. This is Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Weasley. Gentlemen – and lady – this is William Atherton. The horn was stolen from his home."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," Harry said, shaking the man's hand.

"Oh! From overseas. How delightful!" Atherton beamed. "Are you interested in antiques, as well? Or are you related to Agent Burke's less-than-honest partner?" He slid a suspicious look at Neal.

Neal, who had been silently examining a suit of armor in the entrance to the parlor, turned at last with a charming smile. "Mr. Atherton, Agent Burke has done a magnificent job of turning me into a model of that upstanding citizen you so value. In fact, my skills in this area might prove to be key in recovering your artifact. Or is it even really yours to begin with?"

"Agent Burke!" Atherton sputtered in indignation. "What is the meaning of this? Is he implying I stole the horn in the first place?"

"Not at all, Mr. Atherton," Ron stepped in smoothly. "You see, we are actually here on behalf of Leon Kensington. Have you heard of him?"

"No," Atherton all but snapped. "Should I?"

"That depends," Hermione joined in, pulling a sheet of paper from her file and handing it to Atherton. "Our client Mr. Kensington reported the Horn of Amalthea stolen from his home ten years ago. If it is recovered, it belongs to him."

"Nonsense!" Atherton thundered. "That horn is mine! I bought it rightfully three years ago!"

"You might have," Harry agreed, "but the claim by our client outweighs yours."

Atherton fumed a bit before rounding on Peter. "Agent Burke! This is outrageous! The FBI really is in bad management if you allow ex-cons and frauds to order you around. Mr. Caffrey," he barked at Neal, who was now bent over a double-edged sword in a glass case, "if you would be so kind as to stop casing my place for your next theft."

"Mr. Atherton," said Peter, a dangerous glint in his voice, "are you accusing my consultant of the theft of your property?"

"I am accusing you of not charging him with other thefts he has committed. Mr. Caffrey! I demand that you stop examining my collections!"

Neal had moved on from the sword and had focused in on a faded tapestry hanging on a wall depicting a jousting tournament.

"It's plain that you collect pieces from the Middle Ages," said Neal once again. "What about an obviously Grecian piece interested you?"

Atherton glared at Neal. "For your information, the Horn of Amalthea was designed in the 1500's. That places it in the Middle Ages, as you so aptly put it, Mr. Caffrey. And as for you three. What proof do you have to this claim? A piece of paper means nothing. I have plenty of them showing my rightful claim to the horn _and_ its authenticity, verified as genuine by several historians and jewelers. You have none of these!"

Hermione nodded with a gentle smile. Harry wondered what she had up her sleeve for her to look so calm, but clearly she had anticipated this. "Mr. Atherton, this might be crucial to the recovery of your horn as well. There are some strange symbols etched inside the horn. Near the tip. They are very hard to see unless you know where to look. And they're not in any language known to man. Can you recall what those symbols looked like?"

Atherton smiled back at her. "Ma'am, you must be mistaken. There are no 'strange symbols' anywhere on the horn."

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed, startled. "I know there are no pictures of them but every owner has mentioned them as being a fascinating piece of the mystery surrounding the horn."

Atherton shook his head. "I don't know who you spoke to but there are no symbols etched onto the horn."

Neal grinned and glanced at Peter, who returned it and nodded. He had caught on. "Mr. Atherton, there is a simple solution to the problem at hand," Peter said.

Atherton looked to him. "I'm eager to hear it, Agent Burke."

"Absolutely. This will solve things one hundred percent between the ownership of the horn. It's so obvious."

"What is?" Atherton was beginning to lose patience.

Peter smiled widely at him. "When we recover the horn – and I do say _when_ – we examine it. If there are symbols that Mrs. Weasley speaks of etched into the inner portion of the horn, then her client has rightful ownership of it. If there are no symbols, then it is yours. Since you know nothing of these symbols, then the true horn will have no symbols in it. If there are, then it must clearly be a fake. After all, you have papers declaring its authenticity."

"Excellent display of logic, Agent Burke!" Neal praised.

"Why thank you, Mr. Caffrey. Mr. Atherton, do you agree?" Peter turned to Atherton, who glowered darkly at them all.

"You will be hearing from my attorney. And your supervisor," he said to Peter. "As for you three. You haven't heard the last of me yet. That horn is mine. You can see yourselves out."

With that, he turned and stalked out of the room.

* * *

><p>"That was enlightening," Neal remarked once out on the street, adjusting his hat with his usual flair.<p>

"In more ways than one," Hermione agreed. "He called you a thief."

Neal shrugged. "I've been called worse."

"Was he right?"

Neal shrugged again. "Who knows. Never been proven."

Peter sighed and turned to Hermione. "You might not trust Neal, and that's understandable. He was convicted of bond forgery and suspected in several other crimes – none of which were proven. His skills are invaluable to the FBI now, however."

"Do you trust him?" Ron asked.

"Of course," Peter replied promptly. "And if I ever get that nagging voice in the back of my head, I can always pull his GPS tracking anklet info and figure out where he's been. After all, I was the one that caught him."

"Twice," Neal added before Peter could. "As much as I enjoy hearing about me, could we change the topic? Perhaps change to how you three knew about those symbols in the horn."

Harry laughed. "That's easy. Any rightful owner knows about them."

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "The bigger question is-"

"-Why did Atherton lie about them?" Peter supplied, catching onto where this was headed.

Hermione nodded. "Exactly."

Neal stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Maybe he was lying because he didn't want you three to have the horn."

"It all sounds a bit dodgy to me. I think he's hiding something," Ron remarked.

"I agree," Peter said. He pulled out his phone and dialed. "Jones, I need some information on William Atherton. Specifically, his claim to this horn. Call me the moment you find anything out."

Neal spotted a coffee shop in the distance. "While we wait for Jones to get back to you, Peter, why not have a mid-morning cup of coffee?"

"Sounds like, for once, you have a good idea," Peter replied.

"I have good ideas all the time. You just never approve of them."

"Hence the reason they are not good ideas."

"They're superb. Flawless works of strategic art."

"Whatever, Picasso. Move it will you, the light's changing."

* * *

><p>Once the five purchased their orders and gathered around a tiny table designed for two in the corner, naturally a cell phone rang.<p>

"Oops," Peter said, setting his cup down on the wobbly table. "That's probably Jones." He fumbled in his pocket for a moment, jostling the table severely in the process and sloshing his coffee over the edge of the brim. "Hello?" he finally answered. "Hello? Jones? Hello?" He stared at the screen as the ringing continued. "Not mine."

"Oh!" Neal jumped as he realized it was his phone. "My mistake." He managed to extract his phone a lot more gracefully than Peter and answered it. "Hello? Oh, hey Moz."

Peter, who had been mopping up the table with a handful of thin paper napkins, paused and tuned in. "The little guy?"

Neal waved his hand at Peter impatiently and returned to his conversation. "Yeah, Peter's here. What did you find out? Uh huh…Uh huh… Wow."

"Wow what?" Peter demanded. Another hand wave answered him. "Dismiss me again and the next time there will be a handcuff around that wrist."

Neal glared at him. "Moz, you mind telling this to Peter in person? Oh, come on, he's gotten a lot better. Please? I'll bring you some tea." Neal rolled his eyes. "Of course it's cultivated on the sides of mountains in China. Yes, and hand-picked by golden monkeys. Twenty dollars an ounce. Great! Meet at my place in an hour." He snapped his phone off and turned to the group. "Mozzie found a lead."

"I gathered that," Peter replied dryly. "Mind filling us in?"

Neal smiled. "Mozzie wouldn't get that far. I told him to explain it all to us in an hour."

"Who's Mozzie?" Harry asked, a bit baffled by the exchange.

It was Peter who answered. "A friend of Neal's. He's quite the character. You'll see for yourselves in an hour. Time to go."

They stood and Neal headed to the counter. "What are you doing?" Peter called after him.

"Buying tea," came the reply. A moment later Neal returned carrying a teabag.

Hermione peered at him. "Didn't you agree to buy some expensive tea?"

Neal tucked the bag in his suit jacket pocket. "It's black tea. It's all the same. He'll never know the difference. Trust me."


	3. Mozzie Gets a Clue

_Chapter 3: Mozzie Gets a Clue_

"This isn't monkey-picked mountain tea!" Mozzie exclaimed after sipping the freshly brewed black tea. "You just tried to con me, Neal. I can't believe it! Wait, yes I can."

"Of course it is, Mozzie. Would I lie to you?"

"Yes!"

"Come on, Moz, just forget the tea. Tell us the lead you discovered," Neal cajoled.

"Hmph," Mozzie pouted at the table. "And for the record, I was not told there would be other suits invading your space." He eyed Harry, Ron and Hermione with obvious suspicion.

"We're not with the FBI," Harry began, only to be cut off by a snort.

"A skunk by any other name would stink as true," Mozzie declared, folding his arms in defiance.

Harry looked to Peter for assistance. The agent sat at the table with his head propped on his fist, a resigned expression on his face. From his posture, Harry suspected this was a normal encounter with Mozzie.

"Mr. Mozzie," Hermione began. "Of course this isn't hand-picked monkey tea..."

"Monkey-picked hand cultivated tea from the mountainsides of China," Mozzie corrected.

"Er, of course. But I didn't quite believe that you would be able to taste the difference between regular black tea and this delicate brew. See, I thought that was only something British people could taste. Forgive me. I was a disbeliever that anyone on this side of the ocean contained enough sophistication to distinguish the two." Hermione flashed a sweet smile at him.

Mozzie preened a bit. "Well," he declared, "it does take a sort of _savoir vivre_ to discern the subtle nuances of tea."

"I agree," Hermione said. "Here, let me clear this out for you and give you the real stuff. You understand, don't you? I couldn't live with myself if such amazing tea went to waste."

"A test of finesse. I am starting to warm up to you, Mrs. Weasley. I like your style."

"Thank you, Mr. Mozzie. And please, just call me Hermione." She took the tea to the sink and busied herself with boiling water over the stove, her back to the others. She returned a moment later, carrying a steaming cup of darkly brewed tea. Mozzie took a hesitant sip as Neal studied him with narrowed eyes.

"Divine," Mozzie declared at last. "Absolutely divine. I see not all of your suit friends are as uncultured as you are." He directed that last one to Peter.

Peter straightened. "Well, now that we've satisfied your tea fetishes, can we move on to the subject at hand?"

Neal grabbed Peter's arm. "How did she get her hands on monkey-picked tea?" he whispered.

"I don't know and I don't care. She solved a problem _you_ created and that's good enough for me," Peter retorted.

"I'm starting to think you're right. I don't trust them."

"Why? Because they one-upped you? Reign in your pride, Neal, we have a case to solve." With that, Peter shook off Neal's arm and leaned into Mozzie. "What have you got for us?"

"Only the biggest lead and – dare I say? – possibly the one that cracks your case wide open."

"If you don't stop with the theatrics, I'm going to be doing some cracking here and it won't be the case that gets broken," Peter threatened.

Mozzie merely shook his head benignly at the irked agent. "Mrs. Weasley, you are absolutely correct in assuming that the brutish thugs on this side of the pond possess the grace of a drunken rhino in a china shop."

Neal jumped in, spotting Peter's expression. "Come on, Moz. We got you your tea and Peter's had a run-in with Atherton. Pity him."

Mozzie glanced at Peter and relented. "Fine. A run-in with that vile thing is enough to ruffle anyone's feathers."

"You know him?" Peter asked. "Wait, don't answer that. A rich man with an art collection. Of course you would know him."

"I should be offended, Suit, but I am not. I know him because behind his riches and vast medieval treasures lie a heart that beats with the worst thieves."

Peter ignored Mozzie's prose. "What makes him different than the rest of you obviously higher class thieves?"

"For one, we don't hide when we steal something," Mozzie said.

Peter laughed aloud. "Give me a break. All you do is hide!"

"He means that we don't hide the theft," Neal explained. "When we steal, we do it through illegal means. We don't hide behind diplomats and mercenaries."

"Atherton's a thief all right," Mozzie agreed. "He's just slimier about it."

"So that means that Atherton's claim is false?" Ron asked.

Mozzie shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. Even if it was, he has enough papers and clout to distract the suits for years."

"While in the meantime, he packs up and disappears," Peter finished. "I've seen it more than once, unfortunately."

Mozzie nodded. "Exactly."

"So we need to find proof that his claim is false _before_ we find the horn, or else Atherton might fight for it back?" Ron asked.

"Sounds like a puzzle, doesn't it?" Mozzie grinned.

"Sounds like a waste of time," Peter pointed out. "I already knew the disappearing act. And my team is currently running checks on his claim to the horn. We're bound to find out sooner or later. I'm not impressed. That tea was expensive. I demand a refund."

"Hold it just a moment, oh impatient suit," Mozzie held up his hands. "That wasn't my lead."

"Mozzie, we're short on time here," Neal pleaded.

"Okay, okay. There's a rumor starting to filter on the street that a street punk scored big a couple of days ago. Word is, he was under orders from a new player who sets his sights on high-end merchandise."

"Merchandise like the Horn of Amalthea?" Harry guessed.

"Exactly," Mozzie agreed.

"How do you know it's related?" Ron asked.

"Because this street punk normally only deals in phoney electronics. Don't ever buy an iPhone from him, if you get my drift."

"What's an iPhone?" Ron asked. Harry was secretly glad he didn't ask if it was related to the fellytone.

Mozzie just looked at him in disbelief. "And I thought you were cultured," he exclaimed.

Ron's ears turned pink. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Peter ignored them, focusing on the case. "So why does a street punk, who normally deals in snatch-and-grabs worth a couple hundred at most, suddenly jump into a well-organized theft worth millions?"

"When it's not his idea," Hermione answered. "Someone else is backing him."

"Someone who is smart enough to orchestrate this entire theft from the beginning," Neal added. Then grinned. "This is getting to be more interesting by the minute."

"I'm not finished," a peeved voice interrupted. Everyone turned back to Mozzie. "Since I knew the Suit would ask, I didn't bother to call until I had some names for you."

"I see I've finally gotten you well-trained," Peter observed.

"I am not trained!" Mozzie exclaimed. "I am merely evolved enough to be able to analyze the repetitive patterns of less intelligent beings and predict their movements in advance. A type of ESP if you will."

"Training," Peter summed up. "You said you had names?"

"The thief is Eric Vinson. The only reason he showed up on the radar at all was because he suddenly appeared in the night life. The exclusive night life. And his street buddies are bragging about the VIP access they've been getting the last two nights," Mozzie said.

"And the backer?" Peter urged.

"One of Eric's buddies confided to a friend of mine that Eric has been disappearing into Long Island the last week or so. But he wouldn't reveal a name. Only that the man is somewhat of a loner. No collection of cars or any of the other toys you would expect a rich guy to own."

"That's not that helpful," Peter said.

"More than you think," said Neal. "How many rich people do you know that don't even own a fancy car?"

"The kid let slip that his mansion is impressive and filled with all kinds of strange things," Mozzie added.

"Strange how?" Peter said.

Mozzie shrugged. "Wouldn't say. Just that they were weird."

"Thanks, Mozzie. As always, your help has been invaluable, if a bit unorthodox," Peter said.

"You're welcome, Suit."

"Let's get back to the office and see what we can dig up on this Eric Vinson." Peter stood and the others followed his move.

"Oh, Neal?" Mozzie called as they were leaving. "Where did you get that tea? It was wonderful."

Neal frowned slightly before covering it with a winning smile. "It was Hermione's. She brought it over from England. How else would I have gotten it on such short notice?" And with that, he sauntered through the door.

"It was marvelous, Hermione," Mozzie said. "Thank you. And if you ever need any more information, I'm only a teacup away from bribery."

Harry and Ron stifled grins while Hermione answered with a carefully schooled expression. "I'll keep that in mind, Mozzie. Thank you again for all of your help."

* * *

><p>Outside, Neal led the group down the street while Peter hung back a bit. His phone started ringing once they stepped on the sidewalk and he trailed behind, talking in a low voice.<p>

"How did you get that tea, anyway?" Neal casually asked, lowering the brim of his hat to cover his eyes from the sun.

Hermione smiled at him, a bit mysteriously. "A lady never tells her secrets," she replied coyly. "You should know that, Mr. Caffrey."

Neal glanced at Harry and Ron. "Do you two know how she did it?"

"Yep," Ron answered. "But for my own self-preservation, I refuse to answer on the grounds of 'I want to sleep in a bed tonight, not in the hallway'."

"And your reason?" Neal turned to Harry.

Harry smirked. "I value my life."

"There is something fishy going on with all three of you," Neal said. "And I'm determined to find out what it is before you leave."

"Good luck," Hermione cheerfully supported.

"Yeah," Ron added. "I've known Hermione since I was eleven and I still can't figure her out most of the time."

"Speaking of figuring things out," Peter chimed in, joining them. "That was Jones on the phone just now. There are no records of you three entering the country this morning."

"We entered on a private jet," Harry said.

"That's not all," Peter continued. Neal carefully watched the three for any changes in expression but they didn't seem at all concerned with this line of questioning. "England has no records of you three at all. Well, Mrs. Weasley and Mr. Potter's records exist up until they reached the age of eleven. Then, there is no trace of them after that. No school records, no health records, no university records, not even military records."

"Eleven, hmm?" Neal said. "Isn't that the time you said you met Hermione, Ron?"

"Yes, and?"

"And don't you find it at all suspicious?" asked Neal.

Harry answered for them. "Not at all. Your search engine must be faulty. Try again in the morning. We're respected citizens in the United Kingdom."

"Heroes of a sort, if you will," Ron added. Harry smirked and attempted to smother it without success.

"I will. I can't trust you three fully until your story checks out. Right now you seem legitimate but I can't take chances."

"That's understandable, Agent Burke. After all, we plan on checking you and Mr. Caffrey out as well," said Hermione.

"Ooh, and then you'll trust us?" Neal said. "Tell us how you got that tea?"

"You're obsessed. Let it go," Hermione said, rolling her eyes.

Peter's phone rang again and he answered, stepping back out of the group. Neal continued to sulk about the tea.

Harry took pity on him. "I'll give you a hint," he whispered to Neal. "Hermione adores tea. Never misses an afternoon session," he fibbed.

Neal's eyes lit up. "I see, so she really was carrying expensive tea around this whole time?"

Harry nodded. "She has a whole wooden box full of the most expensive teas in the world. It's her hobby. She was very irritated that she had to sacrifice a golden monkey picked bag to your friend. I think I would try to make it up to her, if I was you." Harry was amazed Neal didn't see right through that lie but apparently once the subject of winning over a girl came up, Neal turned his attentions to it immediately. "It will have to be something worthwhile," Harry added. He could practically see the wheels in Neal's head turn as the ex-con tried to figure out the perfect way to get back into Hermione's good graces.

"That was Diana, this time," Peter said, returning to the group. "Eric Vinson enjoyed the night life at _The Jade Rhino_ last night and bragged to one of the waitresses in the VIP section that he would be at _Wine Garden Reality_ tonight. That's an exclusive club. You have to know someone to get in."

"So we're out of luck?" Harry asked.

Peter grinned. "I wouldn't say that. We have the best conman in the state."

"It's 'ex-con' and 'country, possibly the world' thank you very much," Neal corrected.

"You got caught."

"After three years."

"The best don't get caught."

"We'll discuss this at a later time."

It sounded as if the two had this same argument in the past and would probably rehash it many more times in the future. Harry was curious as to what they had planned. "How are you going to get in?"

"Details." Neal waved his hand dismissively. "First, I need a date." He turned to Hermione. "I know you're married but would you care to have a one-night stand with me? Say, tonight?"

"Me?" Hermione asked, startled. "Don't you have an agent that has more experience?"

"Yes, and she's going to be the one going," Peter said.

Neal slumped his shoulders. "Aw, come on, Peter. I would much rather have Hermione as my fake-date."

"No way, she's a civilian."

"So am I! It will work out great."

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

Neal looked pleadingly at the three, who returned his look with ones of varying degrees of confusion. Ron finally spoke up. "Why can't you use the FBI agent?"

Neal leaned in and whispered, "She can hurt me."

"So can Hermione," Ron replied, something in his tone suggesting he knew from experience.

"Come on. Diana isn't my type."

"I'm married," Hermione pointed out.

Neal sighed and leaned in further. "She's _scary_," he confided. He opened his blue eyes wide in his best 'help me' expression.

Hermione relented. "Fine. But you try anything dodgy and you'll wish that agent was in my place."

"Have you forgotten that I'm the one in charge here?" Peter asked. "Diana is the one who will be going with Neal."

"That will be convincing. We're supposed to be married."

"Your marriage is on the rocks," Peter retorted. "You're taking her out as a make-up for some stupid thing that you did earlier in the week. That's believable."

"Oh, can't I go instead? After all, we are trying to investigate the horn as well. We should help," Hermione asked.

Peter looked from one face to the next. Finally, he heaved a huge sigh. "Hermione can go instead of Diana." Neal cheered. "On one condition." Neal lowered his arms. "Jones and Diana also go as another couple."

"What? I'll barely be able to procure two tickets, let alone four," Neal protested.

"That's the rules. You have all afternoon to get four tickets. If you don't, then Diana is your date. Let's meet at the office at 8:00. It will give us enough time to go over the plan and set up the van."

"The van?" Harry asked.

"That's where you two and I will be. Watching and listening. Close enough to help if there's trouble."

Neal chuckled. "Better you than me. I hate the van."

"Get going," Peter told Neal. "I want you in my office at five with those tickets in your hands as proof."

"Fine. But I need to borrow him." He pointed to Harry.

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Because you're small. People are less intimidated by short people."

Ron laughed at Harry's chagrin. "I suppose that would be okay," he agreed reluctantly.

Neal smiled. "Peter gave me the entire afternoon. I'll have those tickets by lunch."

Peter glanced at his watch. "That's in one hour."

Neal smiled again. "Exactly."

"Get moving then. If you don't have those tickets in one hour, you're buying us all lunch."

"And if I do?"

"Then lunch is on me."

"Sounds like good incentive, right Harry?"

Harry shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me. Either way, I don't pay for lunch."

Neal rolled his eyes. "Let's just get going," he said, pushing Harry ahead of him.

Twenty minutes later, Harry seriously contemplated levitating the dumpster in front of him for some entertainment. They arrived in front of the club in ten minutes. For the next ten, Neal studiously observed the motions of everyone in front of him, from the most innocent bustling businessmen to the laughing deliverymen milling around across the street.

"Can we get going, already?" Harry finally asked impatiently.

"Shh," Neal hissed. "I'm watching."

Harry checked his watch. "We currently have thirty-five minutes to acquire passes for tonight. Twenty-five, if you count the ten minute walk back to your office."

"Relax. I have a plan." Neal turned to Harry and grinned. "I just need to watch for a few moments longer. Hey, think you can make yourself useful?"

"How?" At this point in time, Harry would gladly blast aside the very walls if it meant finally moving.

"I'll explain once you get back but I need some uniforms." Neal glanced across the street. "Deliveryman uniforms."

Harry followed his gaze, catching on. "Any particular kind? Do you know what companies this business deals with?"

Neal shrugged. "Close but not necessary. I just need general uniforms of some kind. It's for distracting the people around us, not the people inside."

Bemused, Harry wordlessly slipped away from Neal and disappeared around the corner. He ducked into the alley. Glanced around once. Twice. He slipped his wand out from the inside of his jacket and held it lightly, thinking hard.

"What I wouldn't give for Hermione right now," he muttered aloud, cursing the fact he couldn't recall the exact spell to summon forth uniforms. Frowning, he surveyed the alley. A thick discarded canvas lay crumpled along one wall. Harry walked over and kicked it apart. "_Diffindo_," he spoke aloud, his confident voice echoing faintly in the deserted alley. The canvas split down the middle, just as he hoped. "_Formulis Regaliae_." He smiled as the two separate canvases morphed into generic tan uniforms. He may not be able to summon objects from space as well as Hermione but his transfiguration skills weren't too shabby. Harry pocketed his wand, picked up the two uniforms and headed back to join Neal.

"Hey, not bad," Neal praised, eyeing the clothes in Harry's hands. "Just in time, too. The big goon out front went around the side to take a smoke break. You didn't run into him, did you?" Neal joked, stepping into one of the pairs of trousers.

Harry offered a slight grin. "He would be gone a lot longer than five minutes if I had." He pulled the shirt over his own, annoyed at the tight fit. When Neal turned around to wiggle into the jacket, he pulled out his wand and muttered "_Engorgio_." Both outfits swelled three sizes bigger.

"Whew," Neal exclaimed, finally squeezing into his jacket. He turned back around as Harry tucked his wand back into his pocket with a discreet motion. "I thought this was a bit pinched when pulling it on but it fits quite nicely over my outfit."

"Yeah," Harry agreed lamely, brushing his hair back.

"Interesting scar," Neal said. Harry automatically finger-combed his hair back in place. "Sorry I mentioned it."

"Nah, it's okay," Harry replied, feeling a bit embarrassed. "I used to get teased about it as a kid. Still kind of self-conscious."

"Ready?" Neal asked, glancing them both over.

Harry shrugged. "I guess? Ready for what?"

Neal looked at his watch. "We got ten minutes to get in, get the passes and get out. Then ten minutes to head back. Follow my lead." Without waiting for an answer, he strode purposefully down the sidewalk to the club entrance.

"Gladly," Harry muttered, bringing up the rear.

Without breaking stride, Neal opened the door and entered, Harry rushing to keep up with him before the door closed. Inside, Neal paused a second to get his bearings. He glanced around and then headed down a hallway off to one side. He snatched an empty clipboard from the hostess stand on his way.

Halfway down the hallway, a door opened on the left and a petite woman with short blonde hair stepped out. Instantly, Neal lowered his shoulders into a slouch and slowed his gait. Harry nearly collided into his back.

"Excuse me, Miss?" Neal spoke up, softening his voice to a timid pitch to match his meek posture. Harry blinked at the change. "Are you one of the managers?" Despite his non-assuming stance, he beamed a winning smile at the girl.

She returned it with one of her own. "No, I'm not. Mr. Guetta is in there, reviewing the guest list for tonight." She pointed down the hall to a door firmly shut. A sliver of light escaped from beneath the door jam. "I wouldn't bother him right now if I were you," she advised in a low voice.

"Guest list? Wow, did you hear that, Clint?" He turned to Harry, straightening a bit in excitement. "The exclusive guest list for tonight! Wow, I bet an invitation to this place would put you back in Elle's good graces."

The woman must have taken Harry's confusion for embarrassment, because she chuckled. "Relationship troubles?" she asked, her eyes glancing over him with sympathy.

"You have no idea," Neal confided, leaning close. "He skipped out on their anniversary."

"I forgot!" Harry insisted, deciding to forge his own fake identity instead of relying completely on Neal.

The woman tsked. "That's even worse."

"I don't like the couch," Harry mumbled. He met the woman's sympathetic gaze with a mournful one of his own. "It can't even be called that. It's just a loveseat. My poor neck." He rubbed it and twisted his head up.

Neal turned back to the woman. "Nick Halden," he greeted, sticking out a hand.

"Victoria Summerfield." She shook it politely and looked to Harry.

"Oh, this is my colleague, Clint Truman," Neal introduced. "He's new to the company. First week on the job."

"Nice to meet you."

Neal leaned in. "Say, would it be possible to maybe get on that guest list? It would mean a lot to my friend."

Victoria bit her lip, contemplating the question. "Well, if you're caught, Mr. Guetta will have charges filed against you. And most likely fire the person who let you in." She glanced over her shoulder. "But I'm not working tonight. And technically, I'm off the clock. So, if someone were to go into that office there," she pointed to the door she had exited from, "and pull up tonight's guest list on the computer and add their names in, then I wouldn't really be blamed, would I?"

Neal grinned. "I suppose not."

She smiled. "Make it quick. And Mr. Halden?" She handed him a card with a coquettish wink. "If you ever decide you want to have some fun at another club, call me."

Neal pocketed it. "I promise."

After she left, Neal ushered an astonished Harry inside and closed the door. "How did you do that?" Harry asked.

"Shh," Neal cautioned, sitting down in the leather swivel and browsing the computer. "Keep a lookout, will you?"

Rolling his eyes, Harry turned his back to Neal and withdrew his wand again. He sealed the room from prying eyes and ears with a short incantation.

"Did you say something?" Neal asked, looking up from his work.

"Yeah, I said 'Why Clint Truman?'" Harry exclaimed. "Of all names!"

Neal shrugged. "Seemed logical to me. Both are famous Harrys. And keep your voice down," he chided. He turned his attentions back to the screen. "Ah, there." A few sharp keystrokes later and Neal pushed himself away from the chair. "We're in."

"We need proof," Harry pointed out.

With a resigned sigh, Neal darted back over and clicked something on screen with the mouse. A soft whirring noise rewarded him and a moment later Neal held several sheets of paper in his hand. He folded it and tucked it in his jacket. "The list for tonight. Proof?"

Harry nodded. "Good enough for me."

"Me, too. Let's get going. We have eight minutes before I'm scheduled to buy lunch."


	4. One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

_Chapter 4: One Step Forward, Two Steps Back_

"I don't say this much, but I am impressed."

Neal bowed. "Naturally. I always impress you, even if you don't admit it."

Peter glared at Neal before resuming his inspection of the list. "Ah, yes, Nick Halden and guest, here it is. Uh, I don't see the other names."

Neal tilted his head and spread his palms open. "Come on, Peter. Give me some credit. I'm not going to slip the real names of FBI agents onto the list." He snatched a foam ball from Peter's desk and tossed it back and forth to each hand.

"Which ones belong to Jones and Diana?"

Neal smirked. "Guess."

"I can send you back to prison," Peter threatened.

Neal shrugged. "At least I will go with the confidence I can sneak past Peter Burke once more."

Peter scanned the names again. Then he smiled. "Found it." He pointed. "Tanya and David Mayburn. Why that alias?"

Neal tossed the ball high in the air and caught it. "It was the only alias I could recall," he confessed. "Besides, you already have a nice background set up for them, which includes their wealth. It won't seem out of place if there is a check later."

"Good point. Nice work, Neal. Where are the three from Britain?"

"Hermione said something about needing to use the 'water closet' as she put it."

Peter glanced at his watch. "For ten minutes?"

"You know how women are."

"Where are the other two?"

"Twiddling their thumbs at my desk." Peter leaned over to look behind Neal. The two men were indeed sitting at Neal's desk, hunched over something that occupied their complete attention. Neal sat down in the chair and returned the ball to Peter's desk. "You still don't trust them?"

Peter heaved a sigh. "I don't know. My gut is giving me conflicting reports. It's telling me to trust them but that there's more than meets the eye for these three."

Neal picked up a pencil and twirled it between his fingers. "Everyone has something about them they don't disclose right away. If your gut says to trust them, then trust them."

Peter snatched the pencil out of Neal's hand and returned it to his jar. "Just like that? What made you trust them all of the sudden? As I recall, you were more suspicious of them than anyone. Even the little guy."

"There's a simple explanation for everything, Peter. Hermione adores tea. She saved our hides with Mozzie."

"Your hide, you mean."

"We're all on the same side." Neal flashed Peter a smug look. Peter returned it with an exasperated one.

"How long have you been waiting to use my line against me?" Peter asked.

Neal smirked. "Too long."

Peter just rolled his eyes. He looked past Neal and caught sight of the British people downstairs. "How about lunch?" he asked, changing the topic. "Hermione's back."

"Sounds delicious. Where are you taking us?"

"This new bistro a couple of blocks away. Jones says it's quite good."

They stood and grabbed their jackets, exiting the office to join the three down below.

* * *

><p>"I wonder if Hermione will be able to send the message to the Ministry," Ron murmured in a low voice to Harry. He picked up an owl pawn carrying a letter in its beak and moved it ahead two spaces.<p>

Harry contemplated the chess board, and Ron's question. He moved his goblin bishop, grateful Ron pulled out the non-enchanted pieces for this game. Chess pieces moving on their own while shouting advice and insults would definitely attract unwanted attention. At least the board was decorated in Gryffindor colors. "If not, she might be able to write a note."

"I hope she does it before tomorrow, or else Agent Burke will get even more suspicious."

Harry agreed. "I'm surprised that the Ministry didn't already set up our background information. I thought they said they had everything under control when we left."

Ron skipped his witch queen ahead four boxes. "Check." He grinned. "And I thought you had gotten better."

Harry frowned. "I'm not really concentrating. I'm just doing this so they don't get suspicious when we talk." He skirted his wizard king out of the way.

Ron resumed thinking about the Ministry. "Don't they already have our backgrounds in place after the case a year ago. Remember that one? When we had to hobnob with one of the Muggle Universities? What was it... Reading Uni?"

"Oh yeah. They did. I had forgotten. Maybe they pulled it out after we completed our assignment."

"Then it shouldn't be a problem to stick it back on the Muggle devices."

"If they get our message."

"Have some faith. I noticed an Owl Post a few blocks from here if we need to stop by and send messages."

"Owl Post in the middle of this city?" Harry shifted his rook to the left, designed as a miniature replica of Hogwarts.

"Why not? They have several around London."

"I suppose."

"Hey, who's winning?" Hermione asked, joining them at last.

"I will in two more moves," Ron replied, propping his head on one hand. "What did you find out?"

"I couldn't send a patronus from the loo. It would have been too obvious. But I did take the time to pen a letter. We'll post it later today."

"Harry thinks they can use the old backgrounds from the Uni case."

Hermione nodded. "That's a good idea. They just might."

Harry moved his centaur knight in a last-ditch effort to save himself. "It would be easier. At least then I know my own history."

"Checkmate," Ron cheerfully declared. Harry sighed and toppled his wizard king.

"Heads up, our friends are on their way over," Hermione cautioned.

Ron scooped up the chess pieces as Peter and Neal arrived. "Well?"

Peter nodded. "It's on. Neal got all four into the club."

"Wonderful news," Hermione exclaimed. "Now maybe we can finally get a lead."

"Ready for lunch?" Peter asked.

Ron arranged all of the pieces underneath the chessboard and then folded it together. He tucked it neatly in his jacket. "I am. I'm starving!"

They were outside before Neal suddenly realized he had forgotten his hat. With a quick dismissive "I'll be right back, it will just take a second" and a long calculating look from Peter, Neal darted back inside the building.

"What was that for?" Hermione asked.

"Hmm?" Peter asked.

"That look. You don't trust him?"

"Oh, I do. Just sometimes he doesn't tell me everything. I have the strongest suspicion this is one of those times."

"Is that bad?"

Peter thought about it. "Not always. Usually it creates unexpected surprises, though."

"Is that why Neal turned to crime?" Hermione pressed. "For the thrill?"

"I honestly don't know. That may be a part of it, but with Neal there are many layers."

"You never asked?" Ron asked incredulously.

Peter chuckled humorlessly. "Oh, I asked. Plenty of times. Could never pin down a straight answer with him."

"Kind of like if you asked him what he was really doing right now," Harry murmured aloud.

"Exactly."

Neal popped out of the building right then, quelling any more gossip into his life. "Got it!" he crowed, perching the fedora upon his head.

"Good. Let's go. We have lots to prepare before tonight," said Peter, turning towards the street.

"You're telling me. I have to get dressed," Hermione moaned aloud. Ron glanced at her in confusion, as Hermione wasn't one to focus too much on appearances, but she winked at him and tapped her arm to imitate an owl landing. Ron nodded at the implication.

"We still have to meet up here at eight. I want to wire you before you go into the club."

"Understood, Agent Burke," Hermione said.

* * *

><p>"Okay," Hermione whispered to Harry and Ron as Peter fiddled with the wire on Neal's lapel out of hearing range. Jones and Diana milled around in the background, each focused on their own wiretap. "I sent the Ministry an update of our mission along with our request for implanted backgrounds."<p>

"Any reply?" Harry muttered.

Hermione shook her head. "I don't expect any until tomorrow at the earliest. If they reply at all."

"Ready to go?" Peter asked, walking over.

The three chorused yes, and Peter nodded before motioning Jones and Diana over. Both dressed in chic clothes, and Harry suspected this was not their first time going undercover. Or pretending to be married.

"Neal and Hermione enter first. Jones and Diana, you will follow ten minutes behind," Peter ordered.

"Gives me time to buy my lovely wife a drink," Neal replied with a comical wink.

Peter stuck his finger in Neal's face. "This is critical, Neal. No investigating until Jones and Diana enter the club. Understood?"

"Sure."

Peter studied Neal a bit longer before continuing. "Once Jones and Diana confirm visual on you, only then will you move in."

"Understood, Agent Burke," Hermione replied. "Will I get a wiretap?"

Peter shook his head. "It won't be necessary. Everyone ready? Let's go."

Ron kissed the top of Hermione's head for luck and ducked into the van behind Peter. Harry followed wordlessly and Neal happily shut the door behind them.

"Shall we?" he intoned, offering his arm to Hermione.

"Indeed." She accepted and they both strolled down the sidewalk. The van pulled away and when Neal arrived in front of the club a few moments later, he spotted it about a block away.

"Names?" the imposing bouncer guarding the entrance demanded. A queue of well-dressed hopefuls crowded the door, eager for a chance to spot someone they might know or bribe their way indoors.

"Nick Halden," Neal replied smoothly.

The bouncer paused a moment, scanning his list before spotting Neal's alias. "You're clear. Have a good evening, sir."

"Thank you, I shall."

Once inside the club, Neal guided Hermione to the bar and ordered two drinks. The pulsing beat blared loudly, but not overpowering enough to drown out casual conversation. He angled himself away from the bar to survey the room, pleasantly surprised to find how much a few bodies, dimmed lights, and thumping bass transformed the drab building he had infiltrated during the day into a vibrant room full of life. He sipped his drink, taking the opportunity to scout out the VIP section, where Vinson would mostly likely be. He had slipped his alias into the VIP area, naturally.

"Is that Atherton over there?" Hermione asked, nodding to a plush chair near a corner. A man dressed in a dark Armani suit sat talking to a couple of young girls. The girls were giggling and hanging on the man's arm, but even in the dim light, Neal recognized Atherton.

"Yeah," he replied. "Let's speed this up, shall we?" he intoned in a low voice, mostly for Peter's sake. "I don't want to start another scene with Atherton."

Hermione turned her back to Atherton and eased herself next to Neal. "Turn around," she ordered in an uncharacteristically bossy voice. Neal merely raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Do it before he gets a look at you. If he does, you're on your own."

"Oh?" Now, Neal was intrigued. He assumed the slight girl beside him remained on the team for her work outside of the field. Namely, she seemed like a bookworm. He had pegged her as a researcher. Also, being the wife of one of the team members couldn't hurt. But here she was, ordering him into an advantageous position.

"Yes, ma'am." He saluted her in a mocking fashion, forgetting the British army probably does their salutes in a different manner and she wouldn't understand the reference. It made no difference, however, as Hermione got his implication, rolled her eyes, and stuck out her glass.

"Refill my drink before I make you find me some more golden monkey tea," she chided.

Deciding to succumb to her cranberry-filled desires, he motioned to the bartender and ordered another drink.

"There are the other two agents," Hermione said after a moment, nodding to the door. "Time to get to work."

"I was just starting to have fun," Neal complained, but obediently set down his drink and a couple of twenties as tip. Hermione followed as he casually threaded his way through the crowd, aiming for the iron staircase in the back. A velvet rope barred access. Another bouncer stood nearby to ensure no one attempted to hop the rope. After giving his name to the man, he finally found himself in the coveted VIP section.  
>"There's Vinson," Hermione murmured. Neal merely nodded, having spotted the petty thief instantly. He eased over and sat on a plush sofa behind Vinson, his three friends and their dates. Hermione perched beside him. A cocktail waitress took their orders and vanished back into the shadows.<p>

"Ah, I don't believe I know you," a man came up to them. "And I thought I was familiar with nearly everyone in upper class society."

"We don't get out much," Neal replied. "Nick Halden, and this is my wife, Hermione."

"Pleasure to meet you," Hermione said politely, sticking out her hand.

"Oh, a Brit. How intriguing," the man said, kissing her hand gently. He shook Neal's deftly and sat beside them. "I'm Wade Talmon. Well, Mr. Halden, what is it that you do around here to devoid you entirely of the pleasures of entertainment this marvelous city has to offer?"

"I do some consulting work for the government."

"Independent contractor?"

Neal nodded, accepting his drink from the waitress with a charming smile. "Something like that." He took a sip. "Tell me, Mr. Talmon, what do you do to be so well-informed about the citizens around here?"

Talmon laughed. "I'm fairly new to this area. I was told the best way to meet people would be to just venture out and soak in the night life. In the short time I've lived here, I've gotten to know my neighbors very well. But to answer your question, I'm the CEO of a cigar production company."

Neal grinned. "Got any samples?" he asked, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Talmon returned it. "Always." He pulled out a few and offered them. Neal accepted, but Hermione waved her hand in polite decline. As Talmon leaned over to light Neal's cigar, the voices behind them grew louder. Both froze.

"Don't try to brush me aside, Eric," one man said loudly. "I've saved your back more times than I care to count the last five years alone. You owe me!"

"I don't owe you anything," Vinson retorted calmly. Hermione tried to be inconspicuous about watching, but the rest of the guests in the VIP loft watched with rapt attention, so she turned her body to face the group as well.

"What the devil is going on?" Talmon exclaimed.

The original accuser stood and shoved a finger in Vinson's face. "I put just as much effort into this as you did. You're not going to cut me out of my fair share."

"You're boring me, Darius. Get out of here."

"I'm warning you, Eric. If you try to cheat me, you'll regret it!"

"Is that meager threat the best you can do?" Vinson laughed. "You forget I'm the one who has the connections."

The bouncer arrived, having been summoned by either the noise or a waitress, and sidled up beside Darius. "Son, I think it's best you leave now. Quietly."

Darius scowled at Vinson again. "You forget yourself, Eric. I have connections, too. Plenty who like me and dislike you." With one last glare around the room, he stalked away. The bouncer discreetly followed him.

"Well," Talmon breathed deeply, "that was certainly entertaining."

Neal offered a wan smile as the tension slowly fizzled from the room. From the nonstop rhythmic beat below, he suspected the verbal scuffle remained confined to the VIP quarters upstairs. He looked at Hermione and noticed she had followed Darius with troubled eyes. She caught him staring and he winked. Her lips twitched faintly into a grin.

"Let's go." This time, Vinson arose, speaking to his remaining entourage. "I got better things to do with my time than hang out at a lame place like this." He grabbed a black leather briefcase that he had been sitting on. Neal spied a large bulge at the bottom. His heart nearly stopped. _Could that be the horn?_ Vinson passed by them and paused, staring at the three. By now, Hermione spotted the bag and coughed to get Neal's attention. Unfortunately, Vinson also noticed.

"Well, hello there gorgeous," he purred, "I see this night might not be such a big waste. Care to join me this evening?"

"I-I uh," Hermione stuttered, at a loss for words.

"She's married," Neal stepped in, rising to defend his "wife". Vinson barely glanced at him, giving him a once-over before returning his attentions back to Hermione.

"My offer still stands," he said, propping his foot up on the couch and leaning close to her.

"I better not," Hermione replied demurely, lowering her eyes shyly, but leaning ever so slightly toward him. Neal nearly choked. _Was she trying to play him?_

"If you change your mind," Vinson murmured, now just inches from Hermione's ear. "Call me." He handed her a plain piece of paper.

With a coy smile, she tucked it gently into her strap. Vinson rose with his leather bag still firmly in his hands, smirked at Neal, and sauntered out of the VIP loft.

Talmon cleared his throat as he mistook Neal's shock for anger. "I suppose that should be my cue to leave, as well. I have an early business arrangement tomorrow. I wouldn't want my competitor to seize the advantage simply because I fell asleep. It was a pleasure." He rose, bowed, and departed.

Mutely, Neal ushered Hermione down the stairs as well.

"How did I do?" Hermione gushed as they descended. "I figured having a phone number would help!" Her face flushed pink from the excitement and her eyes glowed in the dim light.

"Brilliant!" Neal praised. "If I had known you had a bit of the conman in you, I would have had something even more elaborate schemed."

"Perhaps it's best you didn't," she replied. "I'm not sure I would have remembered my part in all of it."

"Somehow I don't picture you choking when it counts," Neal assured her. He glanced around the bar, spotting Diana but not Jones. Thinking the man must be doing his own surveillance, Neal led Hermione through the crowd and out the door.

Outside, Hermione frowned at Neal. "Surely we're not heading back to the van so soon?"

Neal pictured Peter listening and shouting "yes, you are!" so he flashed a wicked grin at her. "Don't be absurd. Let's see if we can't track down Vinson. Did you see what I saw?"

Hermione answered promptly. "The bag. Do you think it might have contained the horn?"

Neal nodded. "Wouldn't it be nice if we could wrap up this case tonight?" He looked around the street, knowing that Peter heard his rebellion and within minutes would swoop down upon them with his usual Peter-wrath. Neal wasn't afraid of him but he was afraid of losing out on precious investigation time. Investigation time. _Ugh_, he thought, _Mozzie would abandon our friendship on the spot if he heard me saying something like that._ He noticed the line of people eagerly jostling for a chance inside the exclusive club on the left. He headed to the right. Hermione followed. He ducked down a narrow alley.

Dismal light filtered down from flickering fluorescent bulbs bolted above battered metal doors used as emergency exits and back door deliveries. To his left, a leaky radiator hummed softly. Fluid dripped from under it onto the concrete, forming several puddles nearly covered with trash. Neal stepped over them gingerly. He didn't want the weeks-old adverts sticking to his Italian loafers.

Hermione kept her right hand crossed unusually over her body, almost clutching her left thigh. Based on her alert gaze, he figured it was just a nervous habit. Ignoring her for the moment, Neal jogged down the alley, scanning the barren doors for any clues. The sharp clicking of heels indicated Hermione could keep pace well enough.

A loud crack tore through the tense atmosphere. Beside him, Hermione started and her hand twitched. _Gunshot!_ Neal thought, breaking into a run. Hermione followed. He toyed briefly with the idea of telling her to stay back, but knew she wouldn't listen and he would lose valuable time.

A dirty, half-empty Dumpster blocked the path ahead. Neal scrambled over it after a couple of attempts to catch a toehold. _Perfect,_ he thought. "Wait here!" he called to Hermione, not bothering to listen to her cry of protest. Another tiny alley jutted from the main one, and Neal turned on instinct, darting into the even darker space. He froze immediately, his eyes not moving from the sight in front of him.

The wrenching sound of metal on concrete told him Hermione had somehow moved the Dumpster. She appeared behind him, not even out of breath.

This time, Neal did block her view, forcing her back. "Don't," he ordered in a stern voice unlike his normally playful banter.

"What-?" she began hotly, her question fading as she looked past Neal. She finally spotted what he had seen the moment he turned the corner.

Dark loafers stuck out from a shadowy doorway. Even in the darkness, they were obviously attached to legs.

Hermione gulped. "It could just be a homeless man, sleeping," she offered lamely.

"Stay here, I'll check it out."

Her eyes narrowed but she nodded. Neal wondered what she was thinking, for her face had furrowed into a pensive frown. Again, her hand positioned itself beside her left thigh.

Satisfied she wouldn't follow, Neal cautiously inched his way toward the unmoving feet. As he approached nearer, the legs led to a torso. A well-dressed torso. Too well-dressed to belong on a bum. Neal stepped closer. The torso led to a face. A face he knew. A face he had seen leering at his "wife" not ten minutes ago.

Eric Vinson. His features frozen into an expression of disbelief and surprise. And very much dead.

And worse, there was no black leather briefcase anywhere nearby.

_Peter is just going to love this._

He sagged. Hermione, sensing no danger, approached. She looked down at the body, and something flashed across her face briefly. Recognition? Neal couldn't place it.

He looked around and spotted a security camera pointed at a door in the distance. _Small bit of good luck in this bad-luck case,_ he thought bitterly.

The sound of approaching footsteps jarred him out of his thoughts. Hermione turned as well, but it was only Diana and Jones, running into the alley.

Diana groaned as she eyed the body. Jones lifted his wrist and spoke into a cuff-link. Then he looked at them.

"Peter's on his way."

Great. So much for wrapping up the case that night.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: A reviewer pointed out to me the fact that in the Harry Potter books, magic and Muggle electronics tend not to work well together. I never thought of it like that, and had always taken the view that it was the magical defenses around Hogwarts that caused Muggle devices to malfunction. I imagine certain magical areas (the Ministry of Magic, Gringotts, Hogwarts) to have lots of anti-Muggle spells on them, and that is what interferes with the electrical devices. After all, Harry never shorted out Dudley's equipment, not even when a dozen fully trained wizards from the Order of the Phoenix settled down in Harry's house temporarily.

But since there seems to be debate among this issue, I am taking the side that it was the wards around Hogwarts (and not the presence of magical bodies) that breaks equipment. Hermione simply being near Neal will not short out his wiretap and the trio of wizards in the FBI Headquarters will not cause the computers there to go haywire.


	5. Truth, Lies, and the American Way

_Chapter 5: Truth, Lies, and the American Way_

"You're angry," Neal stated plainly as Peter paced around the conference room. He sat with the three from England and also Jones and Diana. It was the next morning and Peter had just returned from a meeting with Hughes, his supervisor.

"Yes," Peter replied. "But strangely, not with you." Hermione shifted uncomfortably but Peter didn't notice. "Our one lead, down the drain. Hughes took the brunt of the agency's tirade toward me but the sooner we can solve this case, the better."

"The video camera in the alley. Did it get anything?" Neal asked.

Peter shrugged. "We sent it to forensics. They'll let me know when it's finished." Abruptly, he paused and shot Neal a wry grin. "It's refreshing to see you so concerned about this case. Have I finally managed to convert Neal Caffrey to the side of light?"

Neal huffed indignantly. "If this case isn't solved, there's the possibility I'll be sent back to the slammer."

Beside him, Ron mouthed "slammer?" to Harry, who scribbled something on a pad and pushed it to him. Ron's face cleared in understanding.

"Anyway, let's not waste any time," Peter resumed briskly. "Regardless of what that video uncovers, we can still do some investigative work. Diana, find out everything you can about this Darius character who argued with Vinson. I think he's still a person of interest and we'll need to question him later."

"On it, boss," she replied cheerfully, opening the laptop she brought inside the conference room.

"And Neal," Peter continued, "while she's doing that, why don't you tell us in great detail exactly why Alex Hunter was in that club last night."

Neal blanched but quickly recovered. He smiled a bit ruefully. "I should have known you would see her."

"Who's Alex Hunter?" Harry asked.

"A close friend of Neal's," Peter answered. "Also, a fence." When the three Britons stared back at him with blank expressions, Peter explained further. "A fence is someone who buys and sells stolen goods. The middleman, if you will, between a thief and the ultimate buyer."

Ron leaned over to Harry and muttered, "Mundungus Fletcher."

Harry nodded.

Hermione caught on instantly. "You think this Alex Hunter is involved with the horn's disappearance?"

"No," Neal replied a bit forcefully. "She was there at my request," he finished in a milder tone.

"Why?" Peter demanded.

"I wanted to see if she recognized anyone. Either as a competitor fence or a buyer or a seller even. Alex doesn't bother to dirty her hands unless there's high-end merchandise at stake. Since the horn is high-end, she might recognize someone."

"Did she?"

Neal deflated. "No. I called her last night after I got back to June's. She didn't recognize anyone, especially those in the VIP loft."

"What does that mean?" Jones inquired.

"It means we're dealing with a new player," Peter answered. "Someone who likes impressive trinkets."

"Atherton was there as well," Hermione interjected.

Peter nodded. "We heard. Jones and Diana kept an eye on him discreetly until the little scuffle upstairs drew their attention away."

When Peter didn't continue, Hermione prompted him. "And?"

"And," he glared at Hermione, "when they turned back, he had already disappeared."

"Aha!" Ron crowed. "So he could have done it! I like him as our primary suspect."

"Our?" Peter asked. "And on what grounds?"

"That he's a smarmy git," Ron answered promptly. Harry smothered a grin and Jones coughed into his fist.

Neal raised a finger. "I'd like to put forth my agreement with Mr. Weasley. He presents a very good argument."

"Thank you, Mr. Caffrey."

"Enough!" Peter barked. Everyone jumped and stared at him. He sighed. "Sorry, but I'm still sore over the chewing out I got from the higher ups. I don't like the slimy little-"

"Git?" Ron supplied helpfully. More muffled laughter but this time Peter joined in.

"Git," he agreed. "But that doesn't mean he's automatically guilty."

"He's guilty of something," Neal said.

"Why do you say that?"

Neal spread his hands. "Isn't everybody?"

"I need something I can use against him!"

"I can arrange that."

"_Legally_ use against him."

"Also can be arranged, though with more difficulty."

"Obtained legally."

"Now you're just taking the fun out of everything."

It was probably for the best that, right then, a clerk arrived with a thick envelope for Peter. He accepted and pulled out a CD and several enlarged photos. "Still shots," he explained. "From the video camera." He handed the CD to Diana. "Let's see what this camera caught last night."

Grainy black and white footage popped up on the projector. Its lens focused on an empty doorway. In the background, a man entered into view.

"That's Eric Vinson," Peter identified unnecessarily. They all recognized the petty crook on sight.

Vinson stepped into the doorway and leaned against the wall. He clutched the briefcase in his hand, waiting. He didn't have to wait long. Another man, clad in a long dark coat, approached from the same alley. Vinson turned. The man kept his head bent and the fuzzy angle of the camera prevented a solid identification. He stood opposite to Vinson with his back to the camera.

They faced each other for several moments. Once, the man gestured toward the briefcase, and Vinson emphasized his answer with a curt shake of his head. Finally, Vinson had enough. He turned to depart, and the man struck out, latching onto his arm. Vinson turned and shook off the hand. He reached into his jacket. The other man mirrored him.

A blinding flash erupted between the two.

The gunshot, presumably.

Vinson slammed against the wall before sliding down into an awkward lump on the steps. The other man reached for the briefcase. His hand touched the bag. Abruptly, he launched several feet backwards, skidding across the concrete.

"What was that?" Neal asked immediately, sitting higher in his chair.

"Rewind that," Peter ordered. Diana tapped some buttons on the laptop and the screen replayed. The man reached for the bag. The moment his hand brushed against it, he was flung across the alley.

Neal focused intently on the scene, absently twirling a pencil he acquired from somewhere. Peter hoped it wasn't from anyone's pocket. It was Jones that offered the first bit of a rational theory.

"Maybe he got a jolt? Was there a live wire nearby?"

No one answered. "Keep going," Peter told Diana, when she paused the video to replay the scene again.

The video resumed. As the man started to pick himself off the ground, another darted into view.

"That's Darius!" Neal exclaimed. The first man reached into his jacket again, then paused and patted himself down. Realizing he must have lost his weapon, he hauled himself to his feet to stop Darius.

Darius took one look at Vinson and pointed a finger accusingly at the man. The man held up his hands in a placating gesture, but Darius wasn't buying it.

"He must have seen the whole thing," Peter mused.

"Probably followed Vinson hoping to talk to him about their argument," Neal chimed in. "I'll bet he hid nearby when he saw the other man approach."

On screen, Darius glanced around and spotted the bag. He swooped down to snatch it.

The room sucked in their breath in one collective gasp, but Darius didn't meet the fate of the other man. His hand smoothly grabbed onto one handle and he hefted it.

This spurred the other man into action. He leaped forward. Darius turned and bolted into the alley.

The man followed, then stopped short and jumped back into the shadows. He glanced around the corner. With one last look in the direction Darius had fled, he turned back to Vinson's body. Spotting something on the steps, he bent down and retrieved it. Then, he walked calmly away from the body. When he passed under the camera, Peter caught a shadowed profile of a face. Seconds passed, then Neal appeared. Hermione followed shortly after.

With a sigh, Diana cut the video. "That was enlightening," she remarked, with a pointed look at Neal.

"Indeed," Jones agreed.

Neal shifted uncomfortably.

Peter looked between them. "What am I missing? Aside from Neal's blatant disregard for procedure?"

Neal sighed, then confessed. "That man that passed under the camera. I can't be certain, but I think he had the same build as Wade Talmon."

Peter put the pieces together. "The cigar maker you chatted up last night?"

"I can't be certain," Neal repeated.

Peter looked at Hermione. She shrugged. "I can't say with one hundred percent accuracy. But what would a cigar trader want with a jeweled horn?"

"We'll have to ask him that when we question him. Jones, look up Wade Talmon and find out everything you know about him, especially his current place of residence. Diana, you keep digging into Darius," Peter doled out the assignments.

"What about Atherton?" Neal asked.

Peter hesitated ever so briefly. "We'll deal with him later."

"What about us?" Ron asked.

Peter pointed at Harry. "You come with me. We're going to interview Mr. Talmon the moment Jones gets back to us." He sighed. "I'm going to hate myself for this, but the rest of you, see if you can track down any contacts Vinson, Darius, or Talmon might have had and might I emphasize that I do _not_ want to know how you get this information. Just nothing illegal."

"How about 'shady'?" Neal questioned cheerfully.

"Shady information from shady contacts acquired in shady ways by a shady ex-con. Sounds okay to me. Just get me results," Peter said.

"Consider it done," Neal answered with a large smile. "Let's go, Team Shady." He flipped his hat on his head, tossed the pencil unceremoniously onto the conference table and sauntered out of the room. Hermione and Ron exchanged a look that might have been confusion or dread. Harry wasn't sure which, but he was glad he wouldn't be roped into another of Neal's schemes. When they looked to him, he plastered what he hoped was an encouraging smile onto his face. From their return expressions, he didn't think he succeeded.

"By the way, Agent Burke," said Hermione politely in her soft British accent. "That pencil on the table is yours. I saw Neal snitch it from your briefcase when he walked in."

Peter muttered a curse under his breath, looking at his briefcase. It rested against the glass, securely fastened.

"But it's locked," he protested weakly, even as he reached for the pencil. Sure enough, it belonged to him. He shook his head ruefully. "I'm not even going to ask how he did it."

* * *

><p>"I think Jones gave me the wrong address," Peter mused as he cruised his car along a neighborhood street in Long Island, near the Hamptons. "I will have to take serious repercussions if I drove over an hour and this man doesn't even live out here."<p>

"I wonder why he does," Harry murmured absently, staring out of the window in boredom. The excitement of seeing the beautiful mansions died about twenty minutes prior, and now all of the residencies blended together like a row of Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans. Besides, after living at Hogwarts for six years and assisting in rebuilding it the summer following his seventh year, nothing compared to that castle.

"What's that?" Peter asked.

Harry turned from the window. "I was just thinking. About when 'Mione and Neal were in that club last night. It's an awfully long drive just to socialize. And he left in a mighty rush. It's all a bit dodgy, don't you think?"

"Hmm," Peter replied. "You have a point. I find it hard to believe there aren't any socialization places around here for the rich and famous. I'll have to ask him about that when we interview him."

"_If_ we interview him," Harry retorted.

Peter ignored him, focusing on the road and the street signs. The GPS installed in his car chirped as they approached the right neighborhood. "Keep alert," he advised Harry.

Muggle devices rarely baffled Harry, having grown up in a Muggle home, but the talking screen captured his full attention. He peered at it curiously, wondering if this was how Ron felt every time he stepped into the Muggle world. He knew about the GPS devices (thanks to Hermione) but had yet to see one in person. He filed a mental note to tell the other two when he got back. To be honest, it seemed a lot more accurate than the _Point Me_ spell he learned back in his fourth year to navigate the maze in the Triwizard Tournament. Because Harry was so absorbed with the GPS, the house flashed into his peripheral vision before he registered his location.

"That's it!" he shouted. Startled at the sudden noise, Peter slammed on the brakes.

"Where?" he replied, twisting his neck to look.

Harry pointed. "There." He wasn't surprised the FBI agent missed it. After all, the only indication they arrived was a faux-weathered sign decorated with faded gold numbering. The house itself appeared nestled in the back of a copse of trees. Wrought iron gates barred entrance. Peter backed up the car in the deserted street. He turned into the driveway. A sleek intercom system poked out from a wall, subtle enough to blend in with the stone. Peter leaned out of the window to jab at a button. Harry noticed a video camera trained on the car.

"Yes?" a voice filtered through the speaker.

Peter held up his badge. "FBI. We need to ask Mr. Talmon some questions in an ongoing investigation."

"One moment."

After five long minutes of waiting, with Peter's obvious impatience growing by the second, the speaker crackled back to life.

"Mr. Talmon can speak to you."

The iron gates glided open.

"Onward, ho," Harry quipped under his breath. Peter put the car in drive and idled down the long driveway. It wound through the massive oak trees prominent throughout the entire neighborhood. Peter circled around the driveway and parked in front of the surprisingly modest mansion.

_If there is such a thing as a 'modest mansion,'_ Harry thought wryly. Indeed though the other mansions they passed dwarfed the house in front of them, this one was a far cry from his simple two-story home back in England. Peter turned around in a full circle once he got out of the car, facing the gleaming house with a faint frown.

"What did you see?" Harry asked, wondering what could have put the furtive expression on the agent's face.

"It's what I don't see," he replied. Harry looked around nonplussed, not catching Peter's train of thought. "Cars," the agent clarified.

If it was Hermione, Harry knew she would have caught on instantly. But he wasn't Hermione. "I don't quite follow," he admitted, a bit embarrassed.

Peter didn't seem at all concerned with having to explain his logic. "One of the reports Mozzie told us was that the contact Eric Vinson might have been working with was a rich guy with no fancy cars. Do you see any fancy cars?"

Harry looked around before shaking his head.

Peter continued, talking through all options, "I guess there could be a garage around here somewhere. It's still strange that none are out in plain sight."

Harry understood at last. "Right," he recalled, "and didn't he say his house was filled with weird things?" He looked at Peter. "What would be considered weird?"

Peter shrugged. "I guess we'll know when we walk in."

They stepped up onto the marble steps and Peter rang the doorbell. A man opened it seconds later.

"Agent Burke?" he inquired.

"Yes, that's me," Peter said, holding up his badge. The man took it and scrutinized it with enormous care. "This is my colleague, consultant Harry Potter. He doesn't have a badge, but I can vouch for him."

"That won't be necessary, Agent Burke," the man replied, handing his badge back to the agent. "We already ran a background check on you before letting you in. You're clear, and your badge is in perfect order."

"Uh, thanks," Peter said. "How did you know my name though to run the check?"

The edge of the man's lips lifted into a thin smile. "We read it off your badge when you held it up at the gate."

"Oh."

"Mr. Talmon greatly values his privacy. Please come in. He can accommodate the FBI for a few moments."

The man led them to a large parlor. Rich tapestries framed the walls and to Harry they bore a strong resemblance to the ones that decorated the Gryffindor common room. But Harry didn't recognize the colors at all, deep amethyst purple and vibrant silver. Nor did he recognize the massive tiger insignia emblazoned on one of them. The others tapestries depicted several scenes of breathtaking battles in the same silver and purple theme. Dragons, alchemists, and soldiers (was that a wizard casting a spell?) fought beneath a towering castle.

"He definitely enjoys medieval artifacts," Peter murmured aloud, not only taking in the tapestries on the walls but an intricate sword collection over the stone fireplace and a miniature suit of armor made entirely of gold and jewels off to one corner. "Just like Atherton."

"Mmm," Harry agreed halfheartedly, but his mind raced in another direction.

After another few moments of studying the exquisite pieces around them, Talmon entered.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," he apologized without a hint of regret in his voice. "What can I do for the FBI?"

"Mr. Talmon, I'm Peter Burke, and this is my colleague Harry Potter," Peter began, holding up his badge.

Talmon waved his hand. "Spare me the formalities. I already know who you are. What do you want?"

Not one to be taken off guard lightly, Peter just smiled and pulled out a picture of Vinson. "Do you know this man?"

Talmon accepted the photo and studied it. "Yes, I believe I do. Well, I should rather clarify that I saw him last evening at this nighttime establishment I visited. We didn't really get the chance to converse. I believe he left shortly after an escalating argument he had with a friend. Why do you ask?" He handed the photo back to Peter.

"He was killed last night," Peter said, monitoring Talmon for a reaction.

He got one. Genuine shock. "When?" Talmon sputtered.

"Shortly after he left _Wine Garden Reality,_" Peter answered. "I'm sorry, but I must ask where you went after you left the club."

Talmon blinked, still in shock over the news. "H-home," he replied. He swallowed a shaky breath and steeled himself. "Normally, I'll stick around and try to pick up some uhm... lady companionship, but the bouncer at the top looked like he wanted to clear out the loft and start fresh with new faces. I had a meeting this morning so I took it as a sign I should actually get a good night's sleep to face my competitor today."

"And how did that go?" Peter followed up reflexively.

Talmon beamed. "Stellar! I procured everything I wanted and more! Couldn't have asked for a better way to end the meeting."

"Did you drive? I didn't see any cars out front."

Talmon laughed. "I keep them all parked in my garage out back. Let's see, last night I believe I took my Dodge Viper. The black one. I was debating between my canary yellow Ferrari 458 Italia but in the end, I think the Viper has more flash value in New York. But that's just my opinion."

Peter jotted some notes in his book, then flipped back a few pages. "Did you see Nick Halden leave the club last night?" he asked, pretending to read the name off his list.

"No. Should I have?"

Peter shrugged. "Poor sap was the one to find the body. Sometimes it's better to check up on their story."

"He found the body?" Talmon repeated. "Must have been horrible."

"He was pretty shaken," Peter agreed.

"What was he doing behind the alley?"

Peter 'referenced' his notes again. "He claimed he heard a noise like a gunshot, so he went to investigate."

"Stupid man," Talmon scoffed. "He might have been killed as well."

"My feelings exactly, Mr. Talmon."

"How did that man die?" Talmon asked.

Peter looked uncomfortable. "I don't think I should share that information."

"All accounts point to a gunshot wound," Harry spoke up at last. He stepped away from the bowl he had been examining. Both men turned to him, Talmon in surprise and Peter in anger. "But there is no evidence on his body to suggest such a fight. Right now the primary theory is a kind of sonic pulse that damaged his heart or something."

Talmon's face changed into one of incredulity. "That's a bit far-fetched, don't you think?" he replied, fighting a grin.

Harry shrugged innocently. "Maybe it was magic." He returned the grin.

Talmon laughed aloud at this. "Maybe, my boy. That's an interesting accent you have. British. That makes you the second Brit I've had the pleasure of speaking with in as many days."

"It's the next British Invasion," Harry quipped with a smile and exaggerated wink. "By the way, this is quite an interesting bowl you have here." He waved his hand to the bowl he had been studying.

"Oh! You like that?" Talmon walked over to Harry. Peter rolled his eyes, spread his hands as if saying 'why me?' and followed Talmon over to the pedestal. "It's called a Pensieve."

"Why do they call it that?" Peter asked, finally getting a look at the bowl.

Talmon smiled mysteriously at Peter. "They say if you look deep into the center, it shows your innermost thoughts. At least, that's what those runes carved onto the side supposedly translate into."

"How poetic," Peter said.

Harry seemed fixated on the bowl. "What do you see when you peer into its depths?"

Talmon chuckled. "What else? Being the richest man in the world. So far, I'm on course."

Peter laughed politely along with him. "Well, thank you for all of your time," he said, sticking out his hand, which Talmon shook warmly.

"Anytime, Agent. If you have any more questions, please don't hesitate to call. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter."

"And you as well," Harry replied.

As they were leaving, a tall woman dressed in an elegant gown descended the stairs. She wore a fixed smile on her face and her glassy eyes stared blankly at the wall.

"How nice, dear," she said in a pleasant voice, her gaze never wavering from the wall. "We have guests."

"Uhm, that's right, darling, but these nice men were just leaving," Talmon answered, a bit uncertain and visibly shaken at the abrupt appearance of the woman.

"So soon?" she lamented, though her expression didn't change to reflect her tone. "We didn't get a chance to talk at all."

"Maybe next time, dear," Talmon assured her. She stepped delicately onto the expansive marble foyer. Talmon moved to her side and gingerly took her hand. "My dear," he murmured softly, "perhaps you should return to your room."

"My room?" the lady's voice sounded startled, though her expression remained the same. She reminded Harry of a porcelain doll. "Why ever would I do that?"

"You're unwell," he replied, just as soft.

"So I am!"

And with that, she turned and ascended the stairs as gracefully as she had descended. Talmon watched her go for a long moment, his expression torn between anguish and love.

"My wife," he said at last as a way of explanation. "She suffered through a stroke last year, and I can't say she's been the same since. They say she was dead for nearly seven minutes before she got revived. It's left a permanent impact on her, as you can see. I'm sorry, I'll trust you to see yourselves out." He disappeared after his wife.

Once they returned to the car, Peter nearly exploded on Harry as the young wizard calmly buckled his seat belt. "Why did you tell him confidential information? I should have you pulled from the case."

"You don't know what killed him. I was tossing that out there to gauge his reaction. See if he relaxed his guard or became alert," Harry replied, waving his hand to dismiss Peter's ire.

Peter pulled out onto the street. "Next time you have any more brilliant ideas, clear them with me, first. Well, that's one suspect down. Talmon didn't know anything about the murder, though I could see the resemblance to the fuzzy image on the camera. I hope the others are having better luck. What a waste of a drive."

"Mmm," said Harry. Inwardly, he was reeling. Was Talmon a wizard, or did he just come by that Pensieve by innocent means? Pensieve... memories... Something nagged at the back of his mind but he couldn't tie down the thought. Peter dropped him off in front of his hotel so Harry could spend an hour at 'tea time' and the agent could secretly spend some time at 'happy hour'. Peter agreed to pick Harry back up and take him back to the FBI building, where they could compare notes with the others and hopefully retire for the evening.

After the agent's car disappeared from sight, Harry turned away from the hotel entrance and headed down the street. He knew where the Owl Post was, and he needed to send the letter he penned last night to Ginny. He also wanted to check out a nearby wizarding gadget shop to ask about Pensieves. It was possible that Talmon could have been distantly related to a wizard and acquired the Pensieve after said wizard's death without even knowing about its true identity.

Harry had just finished sending the owl and stepped off to one side of the street to examine the wizard map he acquired in the Owl Post when a familiar voice shouted, "Harry, look out!"

Harry looked up.

"_Stupefy_!" another voice roared.

"_Protego_!" bellowed the first voice.

A blue shield popped in front of Harry.

The red jet of light bounced off the shield. It fizzled in the air.

_CRACK! _

He recognized the distinctive sound of a Disapparation. _They got away,_ he thought numbly, his mind still processing exactly what just happened.

"Harry!" the first voice exclaimed. He looked up as Justin Moretti raced toward him. "Thank goodness! Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, bemused. "You saved me," he realized. "Thanks!"

Justin flushed. "No problem, man. Glad I could help."

"Did you get a look at him?"

Justin shook his head, his eyes filled with frustration. "I was walking down the street and I saw him watching as you exited the Owl Post shop. I thought it was weird because he was all covered in a dark cloak, so I stopped a moment to look. When you stepped out of the crowd, he took out his wand and aimed. That's when I called out to you. The protection spell was just instinct. Good thing there were no Muggles watching."

"Bloody amazing instincts!" Harry praised gratefully.

"Thanks," Justin said. He ambled down the pavement back to the hotel. Harry followed.

"But what are you doing here?" Harry asked.

Justin sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Someone got an anonymous tip at the office that your group was up to no good. They recalled me from Washington. I'm supposed to babysit you guys until your case is solved. Department issued orders."

"Babysit?" Harry asked.

"Keep an eye on you," he clarified. "But I'm not one for being useless. Tell me what I can do to help."

Now it was Harry's turn to sigh. "I don't think Agent Burke will let you help us."

Justin shrugged. "I can help from the shadows. He won't know."

Harry smiled. "Works for me. It's good to have another hand in this. Speaking of which, is it possible for a Muggle to acquire a Pensieve?"

Justin scratched his head in thought. "Truthfully? Yeah, probably. But it's very unlikely. Why?"

"This rich guy that's a suspect in our case had one in his home. I couldn't tell if he's a wizard or not."

"It's possible he got it innocently enough. A lot of our artifacts wind up in Muggle possession because they're unusual and sell high at auctions. We don't always get there in time to get them, so a few slip through the cracks."

The thought that had been nagging at Harry the entire time finally hit him. "Wait! Justin!" he exclaimed.

"What?" the American Auror eyed him with slight suspicion.

"The Pensieve, that's it!" Harry said. "Can we use one to see your memory of when you saw the horn? Hermione might be able to translate the runes on the inside. We don't have a photograph of them."

Justin pondered the idea. "I don't see why not. It's worth a shot. Where are they anyway?"

Harry slapped his head. "Oh! I forgot! They're with Neal tracking down another lead. Peter didn't want them coming with us to interrogate our suspect because they were undercover last night."

Justin blinked at him. "I think you had best fill me in on exactly what has happened since I left," he said after a long moment.

"Over tea?" Harry suggested, hope lighting up his eyes.

"Sure. I hear your hotel serves divine tea."


	6. Where Two Paths Converge

_Chapter 6: Where Two Paths Converge_

"Nothing," Hermione moaned as she trudged back to the office with Neal and Ron. "Four hours of wandering around the dodgiest parts of the city and not one single clue."

"Nonsense," Neal remarked with his usual carefree attitude. "We discovered a lot."

"Oh yeah," Ron said, his voiced laced with sarcasm. "Like how that number Hermione got last night led to a phone number that had been disconnected. Real helpful."

"Or the fact that none of Vinson's 'friends' could tell us where Darius is hiding," Hermione added.

"Or that none of _your_ friends," Ron directed this last one to Neal, "could tell us anything either."

"Like we said. A waste of four hours," Hermione summed up. "Unless you can think of one good clue we've gotten, Agent Burke will not be happy."

Neal twirled his jacket over his shoulder from one finger. "You British people have absolutely no patience," he said with a touch of patronization in his tone. "And I thought Americans had the reputation for being impulsive."

"I prefer not to waste an entire afternoon when we need to be solving this case," Hermione argued, defending herself. "Agent Burke won't be too pleased."

Neal shrugged. "If you couldn't tell, I don't worry about Peter that much." He turned abruptly into a nearby café. Caught off guard by his sudden departure, Hermione and Ron gaped at the doorway before Ron shook himself out of his stupor. He grabbed Hermione's hand and dragged her inside.

It took their eyes a moment to adjust to the dimmer interior and, when they did, it took another moment before they spotted Neal, lounging with casual ease at a table behind them, near the exit.

"What did you go and do that for?" Ron demanded.

"Sit and I'll explain," Neal said, motioning to the extra two chairs. They sat with great reluctance. "Since it appears to escape your astute observations, we have had a tail on us for the last three blocks."

Hermione blinked, not used to being outsmarted. "Why did you duck in here?" she asked.

"This is the only place nearby that doesn't have a back door and I could hide just inside and surprise him. I'll give him," at this Neal glanced at his watch, "ten minutes before he becomes suspicious and investigates. Care for a drink?" He motioned a waitress over and ordered a soda for himself.

"Oh, I'll have whatever he's having," Ron declared, always eager to try out new Muggle items. Hermione frowned in disapproval before ordering a soda with the rest of them.

They sat for several long minutes, sipping their cold sodas and enjoying the brief respite from the heat and bustle of New York. The door jingled opened.

Neal stood. Ron and Hermione echoed his actions. He eased himself behind the man, careful not to scrape the wooden chair against the floor, and blocked his escape route.

"Can I help you with something?" Neal asked politely.

The man whirled around. He snarled, realizing the trap in an instant. He thrust out his hands and shoved Neal.

Caught him square in the chest.

The ex-con slammed against the door. The flimsy latch collapsed under the pressure.

Neal tumbled outside. The first man hopped over him with graceful ease and bolted down the street.

"I'm fine. Go," Neal coughed. Hermione and Ron needed no further incentive and sprinted after the man.

"Stop!" Ron bellowed as they chased him. "We just want to talk to you!"

"Ron," Hermione panted beside him, "I don't think that is going to work."

"You got any great ideas?" Ron moaned.

"Yes! Chase him into an alley away from Muggles," Hermione ordered, pausing mid-step to withdraw her wand.

"What I wouldn't give for a broom right now," Ron moaned, gasping for breath as the man put on a burst of extra speed and disappeared around a corner. "There!" he shouted, pointing ahead.

They shot around the corner to find the man scrambling over a chain-link fence.

"_Mobiliarbus_!" Hermione cried. The crates the man stood on flew out from under his feet. He clung to the fence as his feet scraped against the chain, desperate to grasp a toehold. "_Immobulus_!" The man's hands and feet froze against the chain fence. "Go, Ron!"

Ron darted forward and grabbed the man, dragging him down. He straightened his arms and legs, then grasped them tight to his body to disguise the effects of the spell.

"Let me go!" the man yelled. "You have no right to do this to me!" Up close, he couldn't have been much older than the two of them.

"Were you stalking me?" Hermione accused suddenly, causing the man to gape at her in astonishment.

"What? Lady, I don't even know you!"

"Good!" Hermione chirped. "Then you won't know what to tell the police after we get through with you. _If_ you don't behave."

The man paled. "Listen, lady, you got the wrong guy. Whatever it was you think I did, I didn't do!"

"We just have some questions for you," Ron said. "You're the one that took off faster than a Snitch out of the box!"

"I ain't no snitch!" the man protested, bristling with indignation.

Hermione sighed. "We just have a few questions. We're not with the police force."

"Sure you ain't."

"Why were you following us?"

"Why are you looking for Darius?" the man shot back.

Hermione hesitated and exchanged a look with Ron. She decided to come clean. "Eric Vinson was murdered last night. Darius was nearby."

No reaction. "I'm sorry about Vinson, but he got caught up in something way over his head," the man said. "And I know for a fact Darius ain't no killer!"

"So do we," Ron assured him.

"Then what do you want with him?"

Hermione stepped in again. "He was at the scene last night. We caught him on video. He was hiding directly across from where Vinson met with his killer. Allow me to emphasize some key points here: Vinson's killer knows Darius spotted him. Clear enough?"

The man sighed, defeated. "Crystal. Look, Darius didn't do nothing wrong. He was trying to get what was rightfully his. Vinson was gonna cheat him!"

"Cheat him how?" Ron asked. The man hesitated. "Blimey, we're not with the law! We didn't even ask for your name! All we want is some information."

"What about that man with you who spotted me?"

"Neal? He's an ex-con himself," Hermione supplied.

"Working with the FBI." When they didn't reply, he grinned. "Yeah, word gets around on the street."

Hermione wanted to shake this man in frustration. "We are interested in two things. One, the killer of Eric Vinson. Two, the Horn of Amalthea."

"That horn is bad luck, lady. Best to stay away from it."

"Yeah, we know," Hermione snapped. "It got Vinson killed and Darius on the run, hunted by a killer. Doesn't sound like its much fun to keep anymore, does it?" She glared for a long moment at the man.

He relented. "Let's say Darius did help Eric steal the horn. And let's just suppose Eric was gonna cut Darius out of his fair share. Sure, that might make some people angry. But Darius didn't kill Eric."

"No, we just suspect he stole the horn from Vinson after he was killed," Ron finished.

"You crazy, man?" The man twisted to stare at Ron. "Why would he do that?"

Now it was Hermione's turn to roll her eyes. "You really have to ask that?"

The man shrugged. "Man, looks like Darius got greedy after all. That musta been his new plan. See, once we heard Eric got iced, Darius told us to tell no one about the horn. He said the cops might finger us all for the theft. They would lock us up."

"Were you part of the original theft?" Ron questioned.

"No. And that's the truth! Some guy approached Vinson a few weeks ago. He dragged Darius into it when he needed a second hand."

"Did you want to be a part of it?" Ron asked.

"No way! Sure, I might lift a few Blu-Rays here and there. Maybe ship a few... shall we say... 'less than quality' items from one side of town to another. But that stuff Eric tapped into? That was too high profile for me. And for most of the boys around here. But Vinson always talked about how one day he would score a big fish. Then just scoot on down the coast and wind up on some island where they hadn't even heard of a Blu-Ray player."

_Like England,_ Hermione wanted to quip after catching Ron's dumfounded expression. _Time to brush up on recent Muggle baubles soon..._

"So you don't know where Darius is?" she said instead.

The man shook his head. "Nah. He came around this morning. Told us Vinson got killed and the police might be nosing around. When I saw you three talking to everyone, I decided to follow you. See what you were after. I pegged you as cops, but maybe you know something more about Vinson's death."

Hermione slumped her shoulders. "No, nothing more than you. The one person who knows the killer is your friend Darius. That's why we need to find him. You have no idea where he went?"

"No. But a few weeks ago I overheard him and Vinson talking about renting a storage place 'just in case'. Just in case what, I wondered, but they never told me. All I know is that it's somewhere expensive. Vinson wanted strong security on it. And that's all I know! I swear!"

Hermione was finished with him anyway. "Okay, we're gonna let you go. But if anything happens to any of us. I'll know where to find you." She tapped the edge of her wand discreetly against his shoulder, causing him to wince at the implication. "And, as we say where I come from, _Relashio!_" She nodded to Ron, who released the man.

"Relashio?" the man repeated, confused. He stumbled away. "You guys are weird."

"Nice cover," Ron praised Hermione, referring to her use of the releasing spell on the man. "Glad we didn't have to alter his memories."

"Me, too. I'm a bit averse to that spell."

"After Lockhart," Ron finished her train of thought.

"Yeah. Let's go back and see if we can't find Neal and tell him what we learned. Think he'll be jealous he wasn't here with us?"

"Absolutely," Ron said with a wicked grin. "Let's rub it in his face."

* * *

><p>"Are you sure you can do this properly?" Justin asked, shuffling his feet in nervousness.<p>

Ron laughed, hoping to reassure the antsy American. "Hermione could probably have done this in her third year, if she wanted."

Not at all comforted, Justin still eyed Hermione warily as she dumped a few more potions into a portable Pensieve she'd brought from England. They were in Ron and Hermione's hotel room. After a brief evening of exchanging information at FBI headquarters, the two teams unanimously decided to retire for a night all to themselves. That was when Harry sidled up to Ron and Hermione. He informed them of Justin's timely intervention from a magical attack that afternoon and suggested performing the Pensieve memory walk-through that night.

They agreed, and so Hermione got to work prepping the Pensieve with various potions. Justin eyed her every move. Despite his eager acceptance to loan his memory from his Auror training, he held enormous reservations about allowing Hermione to use an 'unsalted Pensieve', whatever that meant. Hermione rolled her eyes, withdrew some potions, and proceeded to sprinkle them on the portable Pensieve, thus imbuing the vessel with the magics necessary to hold the memory.

"It's ready," she announced at last, drawing a sigh of relief from Ron and a moan of apprehension from Justin.

"Maybe I should check it, just in case," he said, drawing his wand.

Hermione turned to the American, her eyes blazing. "I got complete Outstandings on my N.E.W.T.S. Exams for charm-work, magical proficiency, and potions. Not to mention scoring the highest marks on the Auror exit examinations in over a decade!"

When faced with Hermione's intelligent wrath, most normal people cowered. Not Justin. He puffed out his chest in retaliation.

"Not only did I do exactly everything _you_ just did, but I did it during my final year in school, making me the youngest wizard in America to join the Aurors."

Hermione blinked. "Really?" she asked, impressed.

He deflated a bit. "Yeah. My sister used to tease me all the time that last year. I just don't want to lose my memory completely."

"What's so special about it?" Ron asked, curious.

"Nothing!" Justin replied. "But it's not a _bad_ memory, so on the list of memories I would actually want to keep, this ranks fairly high."

Harry pulled out his wand. "We all trust Hermione. She concocted a perfect Polyjuice Potion during our second year. Here, I'll test it for you." He placed the wand to his temple and withdrew several strands of long silvery substance, which he dropped into the Pensieve. "All of my memories of meeting you," he said to Justin. "We can view them if you want. If something goes wrong, I'll lose them all."

Justin relented under Harry's proposal. "Fine, I'll do it. Keep your memories." He looked to Hermione. "A true Polyjuice Potion? In your second year?"

She nodded. "It took me a good portion of the year to brew," she admitted.

"Admirable." Justin handed the Pensieve back to Harry. "Okay, let's do this."

Harry absorbed his memories back and Justin siphoned his into the bowl. "On three," said Harry as they all stuck out their fingers. "One... two... three!"

The familiar vertigo sensation enveloped him as the memory expanded around him and solidified. Utilizing a Pensieve made it feel like the scenery grows bigger around a person, rather than the sensation of falling that portkey's had. Once inside the memory, Harry steadied himself and focused on the ground for a moment before taking in his surroundings. They landed inside a museum, with a guide about to kick off another tour. A dozen or so people milled around. Harry spotted Justin lingering toward the back, scribbling something in his notebook. This memory must have been a decade old, because Justin still bore the youthful, eager expression of a student. Around him, older students, the oldest not more than twenty-five, chatted amongst each other, occasionally shooting Justin a pitying smile or a cruel one. Justin ignored them all, either oblivious to them or not caring. Harry believed for a moment that this could be a representation of his own early life. A twang of pity struck him, but the cheerful man standing beside him displayed no regret. In fact, the real Justin bounced in place, eager to start explaining things to the group.

_If this is a good memory for Justin, I hate to imagine what his bad ones must be,_ Harry thought.

"Wow, this is so neat to be back here again!" Real-Justin gushed. His eyes darted everywhere, soaking up the memory. He walked up to one of the groups of people, three boys that eyed memory-Justin with contempt. "Ha! I knew you would eventually end up as a good-for-nothing, Jake. All that talk of how many strings your father could pull didn't save you from being kicked out of Auror academy a week before graduation, did it?" Real-Justin hummed in his face. "You took your friends down with you that day." He turned to the non-memory wizards. "He now works as a clerk in the school uniform shop. Justice served, I say. He teased me mercilessly in school."

An older sandy haired man walked into sight. "Attention, class," he began, waving his hands for quiet. "Now that everyone has entered into my memory, let's go over a few things before we get started. How many of you have ever been in a memory before?"

One or two students raised their hands. Most, including Justin, kept theirs to their side.

"As we discussed in class," the professor continued, "you cannot interact with the memory. This is a relatively simple one, as it is just me observing the Horn of Amalthea. But there might be memories you enter which often will contain... shall we say... events that might encourage the more impulsive students to interfere."

Memory-Justin jotted everything down the professor said as fast as his hand could write, though from the bored expressions of the other students, this was a topic they had discussed multiple times prior to this.

"Now, my memory is currently paused at the point before I enter the room with the horn. When we go in, I want you to examine every inch of that horn. You have five minutes before we engage in our memory debate. Let's go."

The professor started his memory, and the gaggle of students jostled each other in an attempt to cram into the tiny doorway. All of them wanted to be first. Memory-Justin, though eager to go inside, got shoved aside and ended up trailing in last. Real-Justin motioned them to follow. They slipped in after the professor. Inside, most of the students crowded the pedestal with the horn. Memory-Justin tried to get close, but too many tall people blocked his view. He resigned himself to studying the exterior of the room instead, writing careful notes in his book.

Hermione, Ron, and Harry also surged forward with the crowd, but real-Justin held them back. "It will clear out in a minute," he assured them.

Sure enough, after a couple of minutes, the professor called them all together. Memory-Justin seized that opportunity to slip next to the horn as the other students gathered around the professor. The professor noticed memory-Justin, but continued to address the students without him.

"Now," real-Justin said, moving to the pedestal and motioning to the others. "Professor Apollz kept the memory running just for me. He knew I didn't get a chance to examine the horn." The four wizards crowded the display with memory-Justin. "Look," real-Justin pointed.

They crouched and spotted what he had indicated. Runic symbols etched into the very back of the horn opening. They could barely be seen, as they blended with the moonstone and didn't stand out in any way.

Hermione quickly opened her notebook and began to sketch the drawings. Harry turned his attention to the crowd. Real-Justin followed him.

"How was your first memory?" Professor Apollz asked the students.

"Boring," one of the boys muttered aloud.

Apollz grinned. "Well, so be it, but remember, not all memories are exciting. In this instance, you got to see a valuable wizard artifact that has been lost to us."

"Lost?" one girl repeated. "What do you mean?"

The professor frowned. "Well, that's a topic for a later discussion. We don't want to get off track." He waved his hand and the memory dissolved. They were all standing on a blank canvas again. Very disconcerting for Harry, but real-Justin didn't seem to mind.

"Hey!" Hermione exclaimed. "I didn't finish."

Real-Justin looked back at her. "Don't worry, he's giving us a pop quiz. He'll turn it on again in a few minutes."

Memory-Justin slipped behind all of the other students.

"Okay, class. Is this horn located in wizard facilities or Muggle facilities?"

The class remained silent. Apollz grinned widely at them. "Weren't you paying attention?" he chided mildly, clearly expecting this answer.

"Muggle museum," memory-Justin finally said.

"Why do you say that?" Apollz asked.

"Because there are security cameras all around the perimeter. The horn is encased in bulletproof glass attached to an alarm system. And the doors leading into the chamber have steel bars going through them. Wizard security features would have left the horn open for full viewership and their defenses would have been magical, and thus more discreet."

"Very good," the professor praised. Many students glowered at memory-Justin. "I know the rest of you were enthusiastic about examining the horn, so I'll forgive you for ignoring the surroundings. This time," he added with a steely edge to his tone. Harry knew that the next time the class would be thoroughly drilled on their surroundings.

"But," Apollz continued with a more pleasant tone, "since everyone here seems to have focused all of their energies upon the horn, perhaps you can answer these questions. Is the horn cursed?"

Several students rolled their eyes at the obvious answer. A few raised their hands, eager to show up Justin.

"Yes, Nathan?"

"It's cursed," Nathan said promptly.

Apollz hid a smile. "Does anyone disagree with Nathan?"

After a moment, memory-Justin hesitantly raised his hand.

"Justin?"

"I think it's just charmed," he replied.

"Why?"

"Because no one's actually died from handling the horn. It hasn't brought bad luck upon the owner. It just seems more like an anti-wizard charms plus a few Muggle-attraction charms rather than a true curse."

"Very good, Justin," Apollz praised. "He is exactly right. Just because a wizard cannot easily obtain a magical artifact, does not mean that it is automatically cursed. Another thing, the runes inscribed inside the horn. How many of you noticed them?" Most of the students raised their hands this time. Apparently, though they neglected their surroundings, the future Aurors knew enough to concentrate on their objective. "Very good!" Apollz said, rocking back and forth on his heels. Harry could practically see him quivering with pride. "Did anyone manage to copy them down for translation?"

Everyone looked to memory-Justin, but he shook his head. Even Harry could tell he didn't have enough time in the few moments of looking at the horn to write down the inscriptions. A petite girl with long brown hair in the back shyly raised her hand.

"Yes, Verena?"

"I managed to copy the runes in time before you stopped the memory," she said quietly.

"Can you translate them?" Apollz asked.

She shook her head. "Not yet, but I have my translation book at home."

"Okay, then that's your homework for today," Apollz said. "I want a translated copy of those runes tomorrow. I'll restart my memory so you each have time to copy down the runes. Those that are finished copying them, see me and I'll transport you out of my memory. Class is dismissed."

With another wave of his hand the room shimmered back into view. Verena spoke to Apollz in the corner, who looked over her notes to make sure they had been copied accurately, then waved his wand over her and she vanished. One by one, the students hastily copied the runes and presented them to Apollz for inspection. Once or twice he sent them back to correct mistakes. Slowly, the room started to clear of people, until at last only memory-Justin and Professor Apollz remained.

"I'm almost finished, Professor," memory-Justin said, hastily scratching something in his book. He frowned, then flipped the page over and began fresh.

"Take your time, Justin," Apollz said. "I have nowhere to go but home to enjoy a nice butterbeer."

Memory-Justin and Hermione both copied in silence for several moments before memory-Justin looked at Apollz again. "Professor, what did you mean earlier when you said this had been lost?"

Surprise flitted across Apollz's features. "What else could I have meant?" Harry suspected this was another one of Apollz's 'pop quizzes' that he enjoyed springing on students.

"Is it lost to the wizarding world forever?" memory-Justin asked.

"Forever?" Apollz looked thoughtful. "No, this is too crafted a piece to have been lost forever. It's magically enchanted. It would take a powerful force to destroy its essence from existence."

Memory-Justin stilled his hand, thinking on the new problem. "Stolen then?"

Apollz nodded. "Indeed, it has been."

"By a wizard?"

Apollz laughed. "Of course not! Ah, but you don't know." He motioned to the runes. "The answer lies in the translations."

"Why would a Muggle steal this?"

"Why do you think?"

Memory-Justin thought hard, furrowing his brow. "Because it looks valuable?"

"Looks?"

"Okay, it _is_ valuable."

"Yes, it is. You're familiar with American Muggle denominations, right?" Memory-Justin nodded immediately. "Ah, that's right. You live primarily in the Muggle community. Well, at last estimated, this is worth four million dollars."

Memory-Justin gasped. "That's... worth stealing," he admitted.

Apollz chuckled. "It was stolen five months after I recorded this memory. The Muggle thieves have not been caught. Chances are it will disappear into a private Muggle collection and then resurface in a decade or two. History does have an uncanny habit of repeating itself. Have you finished your runes?"

Memory-Justin held out his paper for inspection. Apollz glanced it over and nodded with approval. "Good. Let's get out of here, then."

"Hermione?" Harry asked. "Are you finished as well?"

"Yes," she answered, sticking her quill back in her pocket.

"Good," real-Justin said, "because the memory's about to end."

Sure enough, the world dissolved and the four found themselves standing in the hotel room.

"Beautiful horn, wasn't it?" Justin asked once they had regained their balance and cleared their thoughts.

"Indeed," Harry agreed.

Justin looked back at the Pensieve, a wistful expression on his face. "It's such a shame you three have orders to destroy it."

"Hey, Justin?" Ron asked. "If that was a homework assignment for you, don't you already know what the runes mean?"

Justin sighed. "I only wish I did. Normally, I would do that assignment regardless, but after that it led into this big spot of trouble my sister created with our Muggle school. After I helped her clear everything up, then my monster detector started to go haywire and we had to hurry to cut off an enlarged reptile that had escaped into the sewers before it could attack any more Muggles."

The three blinked in unison. "Er…but why didn't you do the assignment in the first place?" Ron asked.

"Oh!" Justin smacked his forehead. "Because Professor Apollz assigned me to help him with a cursed item, since he knew that I wanted to specialize in curse-breaking with the Aurors. It got... complicated," Justin's face darkened momentarily. "I ended up missing a week of classes. By that time, the runic assignment had passed and I had to focus on helping my sister."

"Do you think you could translate these?" Harry asked Hermione.

She had already moved to her bag and pulled out several books on translating runes. "Sure. Just give me some time."

Justin yawned. "Well, it was fun, but I think I'm heading off to bed now. I'll catch up with you guys tomorrow sometime." He turned on the spot and vanished with a loud crack. Harry felt his eyelids grow heavy as well.

"That's a good idea. I think I'll head to bed myself. See you in the morning."

Ron bid him farewell, but Hermione merely mumbled something unintelligible without lifting her head.

* * *

><p>"Ugheagh," Peter released a long grumble mixed with a sigh as he sunk into his sofa with a cold beer clutched in his hand. He picked up the remote and flipped to the game. Didn't matter which game. Any game would do. He wasn't interested in watching. He had a case to solve.<p>

On the table spread in front of him was the case file on the horn and the latest developments in the murder investigation. He picked up the report again and scanned through it. The coroner _still_ had yet to determine a cause of death. No obvious gunshot wound. No physical trauma of any kind. Tox report was pending, and Peter hoped that some poison got slipped into his drink and caused him to keel over at just the most appropriate time. It was either that or a heart attack, and the coroner assured him that it was not a heart attack. So, his hopes and sanity rested upon the toxicology report. If it came back negative... well, he might have to give Harry's half-hearted joke of a sonic pulse serious consideration. And Peter did _not_ want to present that theory to his superiors.

Something nagged at the back of his mind. The annoying inner conscience that arrogantly teased him with _You're missing something! Something important. I'm not going to tell you what it is you big oaf, but it's the case-breaker!_ Stupid inner conscience. _I bet Neal doesn't have arguments with his conscience_. Okay, that wasn't fair. Neal had made enormous progress with his moral compass in the few years he worked with Peter. _Fine. He probably has epic battles with his conscience._

If he hoped to maintain his sanity by reading the report one more time, he was doing a spectacular job of failing. Arguments with yourself generally fell into the classification of "not sane." Especially when one loses said arguments. He released another groan and tossed the report back on the coffee table.

"Something the matter?" his wife, Elizabeth, asked as she walked into the room carrying a steaming mug. Satchmo, his yellow Labrador retriever, trailed behind.

"Mmm, just working on the latest case," Peter replied. He sniffed the air. "Cider?"

Elizabeth smiled as she placed the mug on the table. "Figured you could use a pick-me-up." She took a seat beside him, curling up her legs on the couch and picked up the folder Peter just discarded. Satchmo sniffed around the edge of the table searching for food. Discovering none, he snorted one last harrumph and turned away. Tail wagging, he headed back to the kitchen. Peter hoped he remembered to put all of the dinner leftovers in the refrigerator. "Tell me about it?"

Sure, why not. Maybe walking someone through this case would clear his mind.

"Have you heard of the Horn of Amalthea?" he asked.

"Yeah," she replied, utterly astonishing Peter. Elizabeth chuckled at his chagrin. "I do work in the art world, dear."

"Well," he continued, regaining his composure, "it was stolen a few nights ago."

"Yes," Elizabeth murmured, "I remember hearing about it. I didn't know you were assigned to the case."

Peter sighed and handed her the photo of Eric Vinson. "We suspect this man stole it."

"But?"

"But he was killed last night. Now we don't know where the horn is at all, or who killed him."

Elizabeth studied the photo with a slight frown. "That's awful," she said. She could always see the good in people. Even people who didn't deserve her kindness. "Where was he killed?"

"In an alley behind this nightclub called _Wine Garden Reality_."

Elizabeth's eyebrows rose. "That's impressive," she said. "I heard only the elite of the elite can get in, and even they have trouble."

"Yeah, well this little street thug somehow scored VIP tickets for him and his buddies. Makes you wonder about what kind of connections he had," Peter replied. His mind reeled. Something was wrong. That inner conscience mocking him once more. _What was it? Why do I get that sinking feeling that I'm missing something again?_ "Hmm?" he said absently.

Elizabeth's gentle laughter yanked him back to the present. "What?" he asked. "What did I miss?"

"I only asked who your suspects were," she said, still giggling. "But you seem miles away."

"Oh, sorry, hun, I was just thinking about something."

"What?"

"I don't know," he replied, clearly frustrated. "It's right there on the edge of my mind, but I can't pinpoint it."

"Maybe you need some sleep," she advised, leaning forward to set the picture down and pick up the next report.

Her hand never made it.

A deafening explosion rocked the house.

The sofa flipped over, pinning Peter securely underneath. Later, he figured that's what saved his life: the tent-like protection of cushions and springs absorbing the majority of the blast. Debris rained down on the floor.

"Elle?" he shouted, coughing in the dust. "Elizabeth!" Ears ringing, he furiously clawed his way out through the tiny opening, shimmying across the now-dusty carpet.

Elizabeth had not been as lucky as Peter. When the explosion hit, the blast catapulted her forward, across the table. Her head smashed into the edge of the coffee table. Chunks of drywall cascading down from the ceiling further compounded her injuries.

Peter scrambled to her side, instinctively checking her weak pulse and shallow breathing. He pressed one hand to her head to stem the flow of blood, mixing with the white plaster dust still drifting. Sirens wailed in the distance. Outside, neighbors started to gather. Several jumped through the blasted opening of what was once his den wall and offered assistance to him. One knelt to double check Elizabeth's pulse and breathing.

Stunned over what just happened, he lay cradling his wife until the paramedics arrived. They strapped Elizabeth to a cold metal gurney and bundled her into the back of an ambulance, which then tore away with its sirens blaring in the night. Several more escorted Peter to another waiting ambulance.

"Is Elle okay?" Peter asked, finally coming out of his stupor once the doors slammed shut. He shrugged off the thick wool blanket they draped over his shoulders and obediently stuck out his arm for the blood pressure cuff.

"I don't know, sir," one of the EMTs said. The red blinking lights periodically shone across his face, illuminating his worry in pink-toned hues. "She's in the other ambulance. Do you know what happened?"

Peter paused for a long moment. "No," he whispered, "I don't."


	7. Never Tickle a Sleeping Dragon

_Chapter 7: Never Tickle a Sleeping Dragon_

"Peter!"

Neal's voice rang clear across the hospital floor. Peter turned as Neal rushed toward him, oblivious of the somewhat disapproving (but still appreciative) stares of the night nurses. His normally immaculate clothes were wrinkled and his hair even more ragged than his usual 'it's-called-_tousled_-not-messy!' style.

"Are you okay?" he asked, finally reaching Peter so he didn't have to shout.

"Yeah," Peter replied. He had been taken to the hospital with Elizabeth. After a thorough examination and a stern command to stay in bed for a couple of hours, the doctors discharged him. Fair enough. He only suffered a few scratches and survived past the normal time frame that shock would set in. The less people who fussed over him meant the more people who could help Elizabeth. "How did you know?"

"Alex."

As if that explained anything at all. Peter didn't feel like pressing the issue. He knew that Neal would only dance around the right answer if he thought Peter would disapprove. And if he _did_ tell a straight truth without any Neal embellishments, then Peter probably _would_ disapprove. Such is life.

"How's Elizabeth?" There was genuine concern in Neal's voice, but also hesitation, as if he was broaching on a sensitive issue. Peter deduced the nurses hadn't told him anything. He filed that away in the back of his mind as quite possibly one of the first times Neal Caffrey's charm failed him.

He offered Neal a wan smile. "She'll be fine. The force of the explosion propelled her into the table. She has a concussion and a couple of bruised ribs but thankfully that's the worst of her injuries. The doctors are keeping her overnight for observation."

Neal's brow furrowed in confusion. "And they won't let you in to see her?"

Peter shook his head. "Not until she regains consciousness."

"They expect us to sleep out here all night?"

Peter nearly smiled at the mild outrage in Neal's voice as he eyed the wooden chairs with disdain.

"You don't have to stay," he began as Neal rolled his eyes.

"Please," he drawled, "as if I would let you tear your hair out alone?" He settled himself into a chair beside Peter, grumbling a bit as he shifted to find a comfortable position.

This time Peter did smile. "Thanks, Neal."

"You feeling up to telling me exactly what happened?"

Peter shrugged. "Might as well. I've been going over it a dozen times in my mind. It was an explosion. Nothing else it could be. Only it was more central, rather than spread out like an explosion usually is."

"Like a targeted explosion?" Neal suggested.

"Possibly. What's on your mind?"

Neal thought for a moment. "Construction worker, maybe? Don't the demolition teams have access to blasts that focus the force on one area? Isn't that how they bring down buildings?"

"Possibly. Could also be a demolitions expert in the military."

"Military?"

"Ex-military?"

"I'll buy that. Moz would love it."

"I'm sure he would."

They sat in silence for a long while until at last a doctor came over and told Peter his wife had regained consciousness and was asking to see him. Neal waved him away while he picked up a magazine to read.

The inside of Elizabeth's hospital room was bright and cheery regardless of the late (or was it early?) hour. Despite being in a profession which forced him into danger nearly every week, he had had very few brushes with death and thus very few accurate pictures of a hospital. Gone were the days of drab green walls and shiny white linoleum tile floors. Sleek hardwood floors now lined the hallways and Elizabeth's room was decorated in a vibrant patchwork of oranges and yellows. There were green accents, but not the sickly mint green normally associated with hospitals. Slashes of dark green interspersed through the other colors gave him the distinct impression he had walked inside of a blooming flower.

Peter hated it.

Okay, he wasn't being entirely fair. He probably would have appreciated the color scheme a bit more if his wife wasn't lying underneath that disgustingly cheery blanket, deathly pale but beaming a huge smile at him.

"I'm glad you're okay," she said before he could even open his mouth.

Great. What was he supposed to say to that? 'Me, too'? 'Good to see you finally regained consciousness'? 'Sorry I nearly got you killed'?

"How are you feeling?" Ugh. As if that was better. He winced but Elizabeth chuckled.

"Much better, actually. My head hurts a bit but that's about all. What happened?"

Peter shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know. Some kind of concentrated explosion."

"You were the target?"

"Maybe. Seems likely, doesn't it?"

"Because of your current case?"

"Possibly." Peter didn't voice his other concern: that someone from his past was taking revenge.

"Well, just find them for me, okay?"

"What?"

Elizabeth leveled a glare at him, looking more menacing with the bandages wrapped around her forehead. "You _are_ going to continue working, right?" Her tone implied he didn't have an option.

"Don't be..." he paused, about to say 'insane' but thinking that with her present evil-eye expression that wasn't the best choice of words to use.

Thankfully, Elizabeth hadn't lost her wits when she lost consciousness. She supplied the words for him. "...Absolutely correct? If you think for one moment that you, one of the best agents in the bureau, is going to just rest here while our attacker roams free, you've got another thing coming, mister."

Peter gulped. That had been exactly what he was thinking. Aside from the 'roaming free' part. After all, he trained a good team. "Elle," he began.

She didn't let him finish. "If I could get out of this bed and track down that person myself, I would! Honey, there are many things you are very good at. But if there is one thing you are absolutely useless at it is moping around doing nothing."

Peter knew she was right, but still felt he had to defend himself. He opened his mouth.

"No," Elizabeth cut in. Peter snapped his mouth shut. "The best thing you can do for me right here, right now, is find those people who tried to kill us."

_Us._ As if she was a target all along. Perhaps she was. But he wasn't going to leave her unprotected lying helpless in a hospital bed while he scoured the city.

"Fine," he relented. "But I'm going to post an agent outside of your room."

She smiled. "I figured you would. Now get out of here."

"Yes, ma'am," he said. "Is there anything you need before I go?"

"No, I'm just going to get some sleep," she said.

"I'll stop by in the morning," he promised as he left. "I love you, hun."

"I love you, too. Now get going."

Still sporting a goofy grin that his wife was okay – better than okay – he headed over to join Neal.

"My turn?" he joked, setting down his magazine.

"Let's get going. We have work to do." Peter glanced down at his bare wrist. The EMTs had taken his watch. Not that it mattered; the blast had busted the crystal face. "What time is it, anyway?"

Neal looked at his watch. "Almost three in the morning. You should get some sleep. I can tell you're not completely healed."

"I'll sleep after we catch this guy."

Neal rolled his eyes. An expected response from Peter. "At least sit for a moment. I wasn't kidding about it being my turn. I want to say hi to Elizabeth for a moment."

"Fine, but make it quick." Peter settled down into the uncomfortable chair and angled himself so the wood didn't dig into that painfully tender spot on his back.

True to his word, Neal sauntered back over within minutes. "I'm ready," he said.

"That was fast." Peter struggled to his feet.

"I just gave her my regards and told her that Mozzie might be stopping by later."

"Mozzie?" Peter questioned as they moved down the hall.

Neal shrugged. "Depends on when he gets the message. I left one on his cell phone but he doesn't tend to keep his cell phones on his person at night."

Peter always wondered why someone as paranoid as Mozzie would carry a cell phone in the first place. After all, he always spouted off one wild conspiracy theory after another and the GPS tracking unit on a cell phone certainly would rank high in Mozzie's book of conspiracies. Yet it was obvious Neal could contact him as needed. Peter _knew_ Mozzie carried a cell phone. But he couldn't for the life of him figure out _why_. Wait a minute... did Neal just say...?

"Phones? Plural?"

Neal grinned. "Does this surprise you?"

"It surprises me Mozzie has a cell phone in the first place. Let alone more than one."

Neal pushed open the door and held it for Peter. "He believes the more you have the harder it is for the government to find you."

"Like a needle in a haystack."

"More like a needle in a pile of identical needles. But let's go. You're crashing at my place for now."

"It's technically the government's place."

"Do you want somewhere to sleep tonight or not?"

* * *

><p>Harry awoke early the next morning to an owl screeching outside of his hotel window. Groaning, and shielding his eyes with one hand against the painfully bright sunlight, he stumbled over to the window. Fumbling around for a few moments, the owl still screeching at him impatiently, he finally located the latches and clicked them open. The window slid upwards with nothing more than a soft hiss.<p>

The owl, a medium sized tawny variety, swooped inside, circled around the room for a moment, and dropped a letter, just so that the point of which bounced perfectly off of his head.

"Ouch!" Harry exclaimed, rubbing his head. "I'm sorry," he told the owl. "Maybe next time you should hoot louder."

With an offended screech, the owl dove at Harry, who ducked to avoid the sharp claws. The owl zoomed out of the hotel room. With a sigh, Harry closed the window after the irritated bird and bent to pick up his letter. He wasn't surprised the owl didn't stick around for refueling on a bowl of water and some owl snacks. Official post owls were trained not to accept food or drink from anyone other than their handlers.

He scanned through the parchment. It was from Justin, stating his department head had received a complaint about wizards working intimately with Muggles. Fortunately, his boss grew up in a family of Muggles himself and dismissed the letter, passing it off to Justin with a word of caution to be careful. Justin, in turn, relayed the message to Harry.

_We should tread lightly from now on,_ Justin warned halfway down the page. _The complaint was anonymous but most certainly originating over the concerns that this horn will be obtained by the Aurors and destroyed. It's a veiled threat, one perhaps we shouldn't take so flippantly. I suspect there's a wizard with str__ong clout to __be behind this. It even affected my supervisor! I don't know why they would hide their identity from us, but it's apparent our Minister knows who this wizard is. Perhaps you could reconsider destroying the horn and instead hand it over to be researched. It holds some magical charms that have been lost to the wizarding world through the ages. I'll attempt to contact you during lunch, since I know your Muggle team meets early. Please keep my concerns in mind, and do be careful out there._

Harry tucked the letter into the pocket of a coat so he didn't forget to show it to the other two. Someone sneaking in the shadows trying to stop the team from acquiring the artifact? If Harry was back in England, he would strongly suspect Lucius Malfoy of involvement. Not only did the man detest Muggles but he considered himself to be above most other wizards. Despite their stumbling block several years ago with Voldemort, the Malfoy family remained one of the most influential and prominent wizarding families in England.

Mulling over that, Harry made a mental note to ask Justin if there were any families like the Malfoys. The not only letter implied such a hierarchy existed in America but it also sounded like such a family was causing havoc at the American ministry. Harry wondered why. Unless, of course, they were involved. As he pulled on his Muggle clothes, he thought about the connection to the horn. Perhaps a rich wizard hired someone to steal the horn for them. A Muggle like Eric Vinson. Harry shook his head, dismissing the thought. If this family was anything like the Malfoys, Harry had a hard time believing they would go directly to a Muggle. He thought harder. What if Vinson was at the end of a chain? If there was a rich wizard running the show, they could have hired a middle man wizard. Someone like Mundungus Fletcher. Dung would have no problem hiring a Muggle to do his dirty work. It made sense. Vinson was a Muggle lackey but his boss was only a middle man. They needed to follow the chain of command to the top.

He met a bleary eyed Hermione and a grumpy Ron outside. "What's going on?" he asked.

"I was up most of the night translating those runes," Hermione explained. "I guess I kept Ron awake, as well."

Harry chuckled, knowing Hermione's penchant for talking aloud when she was thinking. "You could have slept over in my place."

"I thought she would be finished soon," Ron said.

"What did you find?" Harry said. He poked the button for the lift.

Hermione withdrew her notebook. "It's a series of charms, like Justin had thought. They're written in a really old language, so the prose was difficult to translate. But basically, it states that no witch or wizard may touch the horn unless it is voluntarily and with a clear conscience given to them by a Muggle."

"Clear conscience?" Harry said. The lift arrived and they stepped inside. Ron pushed the button for the ground floor. His finger lingered over the other buttons for a moment before pulling away with a regretful sigh. Harry smirked. Ron still couldn't get over his absolute fascination with Muggle devices.

Hermione shrugged. "That was the closest translation I could find. Ron thinks it means the person can't be acting under dishonest means."

"Like hiring a Muggle to steal the horn and hand it over to them for a large sum of money," Harry said, beginning to understand. "Oh! That reminds me. Justin wrote to me this morning." Harry dug the letter out of his overcoat and handed it to Ron. Ron quickly scanned it and passed it over to Hermione.

"Do you think this Darius fellow has the horn now?" Ron asked, falling into step with Harry as Hermione read the parchment.

Harry shrugged. "Beats me. Seems like a solid lead, though. If Vinson really stole the horn on behalf of a wizard and then got killed, it would make sense that the horn is now with Darius."

"I wonder if Wade Talmon is a wizard," Ron mused. "It would explain a few things. And with what we now know about the horn, it's obvious that a wizard killed Vinson. He got blasted away by the anti-wizard charms on the horn when he tried to reach for it."

Hermione huffed an irritated sigh. "I already told you a wizard killed Vinson. Avada Kedavra is the only logical explanation for his death."

"We don't know that Talmon is a wizard," Harry began. "Peter wants to believe his story, and to be honest, so do I. If he was acting, he did a spectacular job."

Ron frowned. "Is there a way we can check to be sure?"

Harry thought for a moment. "Aside from just dropping by his place and asking him some very pointed questions?"

Ron grinned widely at him. "I haven't crashed a wizard's home in months. You know I love doing that."

Harry shook his head in amusement. Aloud he said, "We'll have to see what the Americans have planned for us today."

It turned out, they had a lot planned. When the three arrived at the FBI building, the upstairs office staff scurried around at a clipped pace. No one made eye contact. The air practically hummed with the frantic pulse of the floor.

"What's going on?" Ron asked, staring at all the agents flitting around. Several gathered outside of the lifts. Harry got the distinct impression they were headed anywhere but there.

"Let's find out, shall we?" Hermione replied in her usual no-nonsense tone. She headed across the floor to Peter's office. Most of the team gathered in the conference room next door. Peter paced the tiny room, his long strides covering three paces across, five paces down, before repeating the mindless pattern. The glaring sign that something was _Definitely Wrong_ to Harry was the lack of any kind of nonchalance on Neal. The man never strolled without the casual elegance of leisure, even when hurried. He never strayed far from a charming smile on his face, fake or genuine. In the brief span of time Harry had known Neal, the one thing the man did not do was display worry on his face or body language.

Right now, Neal Caffrey was worried.

Harry could tell by the agitated tapping of the thumbs against the table, the way Neal slouched so low in his chair he could slide out of sight in a few more centimeters and the way the coffee mug remained untouched at the farthest point of his reach, still filled to the brim with dark liquid that did not steam. He looked so much like a child sent to a time-out that Harry very nearly suspected him to be the cause of all the tension in the FBI building. Except Jones and Diana had adopted similar poses.

"What is going on in there?" Ron muttered. Harry looked at him in slight surprise. "What? You try living in a family of nine and not knowing what body language means. Every time Mum would get a note about Fred and George she would start to swish her wand in this one particular manner. Ginny and I learned quite early to hide at the sight of that distinct flick or risk getting caught up in her anger."

Harry never thought of it that way but Ron did have a point. "Let's go in and find out," he suggested.

Ron blanched. His freckles stood out against his white skin. "You really sure you want to?"

"Come on, we're wizards," Harry whispered the last part. "We can handle a few irate Muggles, right?"

Ron gulped but didn't reply. Harry took that opportunity to push open the door and enter. Four pairs of eyes settled upon him. Harry immediately felt self-conscious and attempted to smooth his hair.

"Er, good morning?" he offered timidly.

"About time you got here!" Peter barked at them. Harry jumped at the sudden change in demeanor. "You think we've got all day?"

Harry quelled the instinct to glance at the clock, knowing that would probably tip the cranky agent over the edge. _At least I know why the FBI agents out by the lifts are jittery,_ he thought wryly, fighting the urge to shuffle his feet and stare at the floor.

Neal rose to his defense, figuratively and literally. "C'mon, Peter. They didn't know what happened. They're early, too."

Harry exchanged glances with Ron. What had happened?

Peter deflated with a long sigh and Neal, sensing the situation to be diffused, sat back down. "You're right. I'm sorry," he apologized to the three of them. "I was attacked last night. Elle's in the hospital right now. She'll recover with no lasting harm."

Harry blinked in shock, unaware that Hermione and Ron both snapped their gazes to him. Peter caught on fast.

"What?" he demanded. "What's with the looks?"

Harry steeled himself with a deep breath. "I was attacked last night as well."

Silence.

Blissful shocked silence. Four pairs of eyes (six if you count the two wizards) trained on him.

It was too good to last.

"You what?" Peter exploded. "When? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Er, yesterday evening during my tea time. And I didn't say anything because I had figured this was one of your 'American muggings'," Harry said, thinking fast. Years of wheedling out of punishments for late night pranks had ingrained in him reflex story telling. "After all, I was staring rather vacantly at a map near a building. My attacker caught me off guard but escaped before I could gather my wits about me and retaliate."

"Are you okay?" Peter asked, hands on his hips.

"Yeah," Harry shrugged nonchalantly, as if the mere encounter with death were nothing more than a declined RSVP to a party. "Like I said, I warned Hermione and Ron to be extra cautious while walking around but for the most part I dismissed the attack."

"Which is clearly connected to Peter's attack," Jones concluded thoughtfully.

"Let's not jump to conclusions here," said Peter, once more resuming his pacing. "Do we have any solid leads?"

"Just one," Harry spoke up, sensing the perfect moment to segue into his theory. "There's only one person who knows that Agent Burke and I were both investigating something."

Peter caught on instantly, of course. His eyes narrowed. "Wade Talmon. Jones, send over a team ASAP to his residence."

"We need a warrant," Jones began even as Peter cut through his protest.

"Diana, secure a warrant. Jones, you better be ready to move in when I give the word and not a moment later. Move!"

"What about us?" Harry asked.

"The rest of you, with me. We're following Jones once he gets the team together."

"I'm beginning to like this," Neal said with a grin.

"In the van," Peter added. Neal's face fell. "No arguments or you get left behind," he said even as Neal opened his mouth to protest.

Twenty minutes later they barreled down the highway headed to Long Island. Harry grabbed the end of a table as the van lurched dangerously around a curve and precariously righted itself. Hermione and Ron looked equally pale beside him.

"Couldn't we have just Apparated there instead?" Ron whispered. "Blimey! I think my stomach is still at the hotel."

"Don't talk," Hermione advised, screwing her eyes tightly shut, "just concentrate on something."

"What?"

"Anything!"

"How about Quidditch?"

"Fine."

"It's really not so much different than this, is it?"

Right then, the van shot up several inches and Harry could swear they were airborne. The van landed with a jarring thump against the pavement and with barely a screech in the tires, Peter resumed his breakneck pace.

They swerved to the side of the road and screeched to a stop so abruptly that Harry slammed against the metal casing protecting the back area from the drivers. He heard arguing up front but couldn't decipher the words. After a long moment (and some doors opening and slamming shut), the window popped open and Neal beamed at them.

"Sorry for the ride thus far, guys, but it took me a while to manhandle Peter away from the wheel. I trust your travels will be more enjoyable now on."

Peter's voice rang clear from the seat beside him. "If you don't get moving, Neal, I'm taking back over driving."

Neal grimaced. "That's my cue." With one last wink, he snapped the window divider shut and stomped on the gas. Harry tumbled backwards into Ron, who smashed into one of the computer terminals.

"Ow!"

"Sorry," Harry apologized. He righted himself as Hermione repaired the cracked terminal with a wave of her wand.

Though Neal started off rocky enough, he settled into a smooth yet clipped pace, with none of the abrupt turns and harrowing dodges Peter performed.

Harry had never been so grateful to see solid ground in his entire life. Not when he first landed after his first Portkey teleport. Not after that that one queasy broomride that ended with him inhaling half the airborne insect population in Britain. Not even after George decided to practice an improvised prank spell combining _Wingardium Leviosa_ with one of his nauseating Skiving Snackboxes. Never than at the moment Neal Caffrey stopped the van and cracked open the doors for them.

Peter had already gone on ahead, barking orders into a walkie-talkie as he shrugged into a thick black vest with _FBI_ emblazoned in bright yellow on the chest. Agents in similar attire swarmed the place, ducking from one concealed hiding spot to another. Harry remembered Hermione mentioning something about that once. The lettering offered itself as a type of target, subconsciously allowing most criminals to aim at the thickly padded (and relatively safer area) of the chest rather than the head or other exposed areas.

"We should really stay in the van," Neal said. He hopped lightly on the floor and sat with his legs dangling below him.

After ten minutes of perimeter sweep, Peter motioned the group to move in. Harry half expected to hear loud gunfire, but the raid was surprisingly quiet. A bird chirped in the distance, breaking the stillness. He soon learned why.

"Empty," Peter said, stalking over to the van at last. "We'll post agents in case he comes back, but there's nothing here to suggest he'll be returning."

"Can we go in?" Ron asked.

"Don't see why not. Might be useful."

As Peter led them to the house, Harry frowned at the carport. Peter caught his gaze. "Already checked it," he told Harry. "There aren't any cars in there, nor is there any evidence there ever were any."

"He was lying."

"Apparently so. Builds more credence to the claim that he might have been the guy Vinson was meeting all along. No fancy cars."

"I remember," Harry said. He cast one last look at the garage before entering the house.

Inside, agents streamed up and down the staircase. Some carried bags of evidence. _Waste of time_, thought Harry. _Talmon wouldn't leave anything behind._ From Peter's expression as he watched, it was clear the agent shared the same thought.

Hermione and Ron gravitated toward the tapestries and had their heads bent together discussing something in a low voice. Neal was busy examining a few of the sword collections with obvious interest. Beside him, Peter cleared his throat and went to babysit his consultant. Harry was about to join Ron and Hermione when a piece of paper caught his attention.

_The Basch Rose Art Galleria cordially invites you to join in an evening gala to celebrate the opening of our new exhibit._

The date was set for the following evening.

_Why would Talmon show up at a gala?_ Harry thought. Peter stepped over and Harry wordlessly held out the paper to him.

"He's seeking a buyer," the FBI agent said promptly.

_Wow, that was a fast deduction._

Neal sauntered over with his usual flair and agreed with Peter's conclusion. "Does that mean we get to go undercover again?" he asked, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

Peter pursed his lips but seemed to seriously debate the question. "I think it's an angle we have to pursue," he finally said.

"Yes!" Neal crowed. "Hermione! Want to go out on a second date?" he called across the room.

Hermione turned to him in confusion, then looked to Peter's exasperated expression. "Another assignment?" she inquired.

Neal beamed. Peter sighed. Harry desperately wished he were anywhere but here.

"I'm not taking any chances this time," said Peter. "We'll _all_ be going."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Note:<strong>_ This is when I got inspired to write _Business Trip_. Though some of the finer details have changed slightly between some things I wrote in that story and what actually happens in this story, for the most part I wrote it while thinking of this story. In my mind, I treat it as a deleted scene, even though if I were to blend it in as a chapter in this story, I would need to plug up a few minor plot holes.

That's part of the reason I wanted to actually finish a first draft of this story before posting anything. After I wrote _Business Trip_, I went back to several chapters and tweaked/added things to make everything make sense in the end. That wouldn't have been fair to you readers to change things up after I posted the chapters.


	8. Yule Ball, American Style

_Chapter 8: Yule Ball, American Style_

Hermione was not happy.

For the second time in nearly as many days, she clutched the arm of a man not her husband. From Neal's grin, he was thoroughly enjoying this, despite Ron's threats of retribution should Neal's gentlemanly nature slip just one bit. Because of the last-minute notice for the ball, she had to owl Justin Moretti for some advice on what Muggle stores nearby carried appropriate dress. Additionally, she sent Ron to scour the wizarding streets for Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. From Neal's appreciative scan upon arriving at the FBI headquarters, she knew she looked good. She had to strap her wand to her left thigh once again and like before, it jabbed mercilessly into her skin at the most inopportune moments.

At least she wasn't as uncomfortable as Peter had looked earlier that day. The effects of his attack lingered on him, and as Peter limped and grimaced in pain around the office, the others looked at him in pity. Of course, this only further irritated the man. Ron finally leaned in close to Hermione and asked if she could slip him a healing potion like Madam Pomfrey kept on hand in the hospital wing of Hogwarts. Frowning in thought, she took Ron's suggestion to heart and pushed one of her infamous "teas" onto Peter with a remark that it was her grandmother's brew and always helped her aches and pains. He drank it, however reluctantly, and Hermione shared a grin with Ron as it became obvious his pains disappeared.

Peter wasn't kidding when he vowed to take no chances. Not only were Diana and Jones at the gala, but also Peter, Ron, and Harry. Since Neal insisted on maintaining his cover (and much to Ron's chagrin Peter agreed), Peter assigned the two wizards to scour the room with him. The usual Muggle surveillance devices were hooked to the agents. With one last brief pep talk from Peter, they scattered.

The three wizards weren't attached to any Muggle devices, in part, because Peter didn't have enough equipment to go around and, in part, because the three would be near an agent anyway. Hermione was grateful for that at least. Her gown didn't leave much in the way of subtly hiding espionage equipment. Although from the brief glimpse of Diana she had seen in the room, the female agent pulled it off spectacularly. If Hermione had to wager a guess, her microphone rested in the subtle jewels around her neck. Flashy jewelry would only invite unwanted attention to that area.

And to spite it all, Neal looked as if he were actually enjoying himself! He kept making offhand comments about various pieces, even going so far as to drop overly casual remarks about how exactly he might steal this piece, or how that artwork would look stunning in his apartment. Hermione nearly ground her heel into his foot before she realized that every time he made a remark like that, his face would twitch into a knowing smirk. A smug smirk. It took her far too long to remember that Peter could hear everything being said. And even much longer to deduce that Neal wore an earpiece, and thus could relish in Peter's frustration.

"Cheer up," Neal murmured to Hermione. "Peter just said that Atherton entered. Let's keep our fair distance away, shall we? Wouldn't want our cover blown."

With a mute nod, Hermione allowed Neal to guide her to a room away from the main ballroom. The room was considerably smaller than the main atrium. However, it housed several large sculptures to offer an attractive escape from the tedious gathering of the main room. The three doorways leading to other rooms added an extra touch of comfort should a hasty retreat become necessary. Neal's face furrowed for a moment before he turned to Hermione.

"Peter just said that Atherton is laying low, keeping close to the walls."

"Waiting?"

Neal shrugged. "Peter just seemed to think he was studying the crowd, looking to see who was here before rubbing elbows."

"Tell Agent Burke to be careful."

Neal chuckled. "He says not to worry. He has a better excuse for being here than we do. He doesn't have a cover to maintain."

The two admired the art for a while, observing the guests around them. Just when Hermione thought she might burst at the seams from stuffing herself with the little nibbler foods being hoisted on platters, Neal turned to her with a grin.

"Talmon's here."

This perked Hermione up instantly.

"About bloody time," she growled. Neal chuckled at her impatience.

"I might be offended at the fact you're not enjoying yourself with me." He nodded to the walls. "Or with the art. Such a grievous sin to not appreciate fine art."

Hermione rolled her eyes, a very un-ladylike action. "I'm going to the powder room. My official reason is to freshen up. My unofficial reason is to take a break from this drivel."

Neal laid a hand mockingly over his heart. "Your words wound me, my dear."

Hermione had to laugh at that. She threaded her way through the room, careful to remain far away from any exit leading to the lobby.

"Hello, beautiful," a familiar voice murmured softly from behind. She turned and found Justin Moretti grinning at her, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I thought that might get your attention."

"Justin!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

The American was dressed in a well-tailored tuxedo, though he appeared uncomfortable in it. Out of his element. Like Hermione. "The same reason you are," he said. "Do you think my department would actually let you three come here unaccompanied?" He sighed. "It's becoming quite tedious to deflect your investigations. Someone does not like you interfering." They had informed Justin of the latest developments in the case the day before, including Hermione's triumphant declaration of the translations of the runes and their suspicions of Talmon being a wizard.

"How did you get a ticket?" she asked.

He laughed aloud at this. "It's not so difficult to make one when you have skills such as mine." He imitated waving a wand.

_Oh._ Hermione felt a bit dumb.

"Right," she agreed, embarrassed. "Are you the only one here?"

He nodded. "My boss said to keep an open eye. See any potential suspects?"

"Not yet," she said. "Agent Burke is here along with two other agents."

"Hmm, I thought I spotted someone with Harry and Ron."

"Yes, that's Agent Burke," Hermione clarified.

Justin pursed his lips in thought. "I'm not sure if I've seen the other agents. Are they actually in the building as well?"

Hermione nodded. "They were the ones that reported seeing Talmon arrive."

At this, Justin straightened a bit. A slow grin came over his face. "You know, I could pretend to be a buyer."

"You wouldn't be able to touch the horn," Hermione pointed out.

Justin shrugged, his eyes dancing with excitement. "At least then you'll know who has it. You can follow them. Do you really think Talmon has it? After all, you said he recoiled when touching the horn's bag."

"That's a nice way of putting it. But no, I don't think Talmon is in possession of the horn. However, he wants people to think he is."

"How so?"

"He fully intended to get the horn that day in the alley. His plans were thwarted. Harry brought up this theory of a middle man. What if there were several? What if Talmon was a middle man?"

"So you think he's going to lead you to the wizard behind the entire operation?"

Hermione shrugged. "It's worth a shot."

Justin nodded. "It is."

"Okay, then, go seek out Talmon. I better return to my cover," Hermione said, peering over her shoulder for Neal.

Justin bid her farewell and melted into the crowd.

* * *

><p>As Neal watched Hermione depart for the washroom, he tried very hard not to release a breath of air. Finally, he could mingle and mix and charm his way to others. He nearly wished Alex were here. She knew the right moments to appear, the right words to say, and the right things to do to perfectly align their mark in the proper position.<p>

It's not that Hermione was bad. She just lacked experience. Neal needed Hermione to appear at just the right time to gracefully work her way into a conversation. Her excuse to leave allowed Neal a precious few minutes of opportunity to select a group of people and ease his way into their presence.

"Heads up, a new player just entered," Jones' voice came though his earpiece, surprisingly clear for such a tiny device.

"Where?" That was Peter.

"Talking to Talmon. The imposing blonde."

"I'm not near you. Stay where you are, let's see what happens. He could just be making friendly conversation."

The blonde must have been a red herring, because a few minutes later Jones reported another person joined in. And another. Soon they had half a dozen potential suspects and now they were beginning to scatter. Peter doled out the assignments based on Jones' intel.

"Neal, suspect number one is headed to your room. Jones and Diana, you get suspect number two. The three of us are going to split. Harry and Ron will cover suspect number three and I'll tail suspect four."

"Got it," several voices chimed simultaneously.

A minute later, a man casually entered the room Neal was in. _Must be him,_ Neal though. _Fits the picture of an imposing blonde._

The man was content to examine a painting against a wall. Neal eased his way over, but before he could reach the man, Talmon entered from the other side and swiftly walked over to him.

"I've got eyes on Talmon," Neal murmured.

"Where?" Peter demanded.

"Talking to suspect number one."

"Stay there, Neal. Don't approach them."

"Of course," Neal agreed even as he headed to the duo, who casually moved behind a case. It shielded the blonde man entirely, but Neal could see enough of Talmon to justify an innocent across-the-room recognition.

"Neal..." Peter's voice held a note of warning.

He paid Peter no attention, not that he much did anyway. Unfortunately, one of the waiters chose that moment to gracefully sidestep around a crowd and nearly barreled into Neal. Neal and the waiter both hopped a bit before regaining their footing. The waiter blushed at his mistake and hurried away, but not before Neal got a solid look at him.

_Where have I seen him before?_ His eyes followed the waiter out of the room.

"Nick Halden!" he heard a familiar voice call. He turned back to Talmon, who beamed at him. "Come over, my boy."

"Did I just hear what I think I heard?" Peter spoke in his ear. "Neal, are you anywhere near Talmon? Neal? Answer me."

"Hello, again, Wade," he greeted cordially even as Peter growled in his ear. That only widened his grin. "Pleasure to see you again so soon."

Talmon laughed. "Indeed. Where is your lovely wife?"

"Powdering her nose."

"Ah, of course."

Talmon's companion had remained silent. Neal got a good look out of the corner of his eye. He stood tall and regal in his all-black attire. One hand clutched an ornate cane. _Who carries a cane in this day and age?_ Neal wondered, then briefly considered his own wardrobe quirk. _Probably the same person who would wear a fedora._

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" he asked.

"Of course not, my boy! I was just having a lovely conversation with this man about the exquisite detailing on this bronze bust here. Isn't that right?"

"Indeed," the blonde spoke at last, his voice low and soft. "Stunning work of art." His gray eyes bore into Neal. If Neal were a lesser man (or indeed not a man on a mission) he would have taken the hint and departed.

Too bad for him.

"Ah, I love this place," he sighed instead, stuffing his hands inside his pockets and slouching into an unassuming pose. "I'm so glad they're opening the exhibit tonight, aren't you?"

"Absolutely," Talmon agreed heartily, while his companion remained silent.

"Which part are you looking forward to the most?"

"Ah..." Talmon seemed at a loss for words. "Okay, my boy, you got me," he admitted sheepishly after a long moment. "I don't enjoy art that much, but since this was _the_ event of the year, I couldn't very well decline, could I?"

Neal smiled. "Your secret's safe with me."

"Good!" Seemingly relieved, Talmon glanced around at the crowd, taking a sip of his drink. His slow sweeping gaze stopped abruptly. He frowned. Curious, Neal followed his line of sight. It was locked onto a waiter. The same waiter, in fact, that had bumped into him a few moments earlier. "I ah, I'm afraid I remember that I was supposed to meet someone at the entrance," Talmon said, fumbling for his words. "I bet they're waiting for me. Forgive my departure. Neal, it was a pleasure to see you again."

With that, Talmon darted in the opposite direction, away from the waiter. Beside him, the blonde man seemed as startled at the sudden turn of events as he was.

"What was that about?" Neal asked, hoping to peg the man down with a few questions.

"I don't know." The blonde went to push past him but Neal smoothly intercepted him.

"Oh, come on, you can't leave now. We should take this opportunity to look at the art. You _are_ an art connoisseur, aren't you? It would be very unusual if _both_ of you were here and hated art."

The blond leveled at him a glare so icy Neal wished Peter were nearby in case things got... hairy. They were nearly of identical height but the other man carried himself up with such confidence he appeared several inches taller.

"Very well," the man said at last, stepping back into the shadows of the display. "But shouldn't you be concerned with your wife? She has been gone an excessive amount of time, no?"

"Oh, don't worry about her," Neal assured him. He leaned forward a bit and winked conspiratorially at the man. "You know how women are." He straightened, and caught sight of Hermione reentering the room. "In fact, there she is right now." He caught her eye and he tilted his head to indicate there was someone he'd like her to meet. As she headed his way, she passed the same waiter that had confounded Neal and frazzled Talmon. Even she paused in mid-step to give a long searching look at the man. So much so she didn't notice right away he wasn't alone.

She reached him at last, tearing her eyes away from the server and sweeping over him and his companion. "Did that waiter look like- Lucius Malfoy!" She gasped, eyes growing wide.

"Uhm, no darling," Neal replied, thoroughly dumbfounded. "I've no idea who Lucius Malfoy is."

"She was referring to me," a cool voice replied. Neal turned.

The blonde stared at Hermione with such an intensity that Neal nearly shrunk back. Hermione, in turn, had recovered from her shock and glared right back at him with all her might. It wasn't with hatred, per say, but Neal felt the tension begin to swallow him whole.

"Good evening, Miss Granger," the man – Lucius Malfoy – greeted in that same low voice. Only his steely gaze betrayed any emotion from his stoic stance and bland expression.

"It's Mrs. Weasley now," Hermione all but snapped back at him.

"Really?" Malfoy drawled, "And here I thought it was Mrs. Halden."

Hermione paled, realizing her cover had been blown.

Unfortunately, Peter also heard.

"What is going on in there? Where exactly are you?" he demanded.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione asked, balling her hands into fists as if she wanted to punch him. Nope, not hatred, but definitely anger. Lots of anger. Neal wondered if he should intervene.

"I could ask the same of you," Malfoy replied smoothly.

"Neal, this is critical! Is the suspect aware you're onto him?"

"We're looking for the Horn of Amalthea," Hermione replied, staring at Malfoy defiantly.

Neal groaned. "Yeah, Peter, I'd say he definitely knows."

"What are you doing here?" Hermione demanded, taking a step toward Malfoy. He didn't flinch. Neal would have, if she had leveled that anger at him. _Brave man,_ he thought, appraising Lucius Malfoy.

Malfoy tsked softly as if indulging a child. "Business," he replied simply.

Hermione barked a harsh laugh. "Don't give me that!" she demanded. "You're here to buy the horn, aren't you?" she accused.

"Hermione!" Neal felt that despite the imminent threat to his physical being, he had to pull away Hermione before she revealed the entire plot. People hadn't noticed them yet, mostly because of their low voices, but that might not hold very long. This whole thing had begun to spiral out of his control and he did not like that one bit.

"And if I am?" Malfoy challenged in an even tone. "I heard it had changed hands once more. I thought maybe I could acquire it."

"Don't make me laugh!"

"I assure you I desire to do nothing of the sort."

Neal contemplated his death. He knew it was coming, it was just a matter of if it would be now at the hands of a livid girl or later at the hands of a livid FBI agent. He chose Hermione. He _might_ be able to calm her with his charms.

"Hey now, settle down," he said in his best disarming tone. Both turned to glare at him. _Okay, got both of their attentions. Not necessarily a good thing._

Neal normally relied on his luck. After all, luck had gotten him very far in life. He could count on one hand the number of times his luck had run out. The number one and number two spots were when Peter caught him.

The number three spot was the very moment Ron Weasley and Harry Potter entered the room.

Both pairs of eyes scanned the room and both pairs of eyes settled upon the scene at the exactly same time.

Again, not a good thing.

In a flash they were beside him.

"Malfoy!" both all but shouted. Lucius Malfoy, despite his unwavering stance, leveled a very impressive death glare at the two newcomers.

"What are you doing here?" Harry demanded.

Neal sighed and rubbed his temples. "Peter, I need you quick. This is getting out of hand."

"Where are you?" Peter asked.

"In a room!" Neal snapped. "You're the one that can track me anywhere, so start tracking!"

The three younger people continued to build up steam.

"I said what are you doing here, Malfoy?" Harry glared at the man.

With a long patronizing sigh, Malfoy responded, "I've already answered Miss Granger's trite questions, Mr. Potter. Perhaps you two should exchange notes. I daresay she takes enough to cover for the lack of your and Mr. Weasley's combined intelligence."

Neal attempted to salvage the conversation, as now Malfoy was beginning to tire of this and fight back. His steel-gray eyes burned into the group.

"So uh, you guys know each other then," Neal began lamely.

A pathetic distraction but it worked. The three younger people blinked at him while Malfoy sneered. "An excellent deduction," he mocked. "I would expect nothing less from a lowborn like you."

Ignoring the barb, Neal plowed on. "So there's some bad blood between you. Can't you just part ways?"

From the smoldering glares, the answer was a resounding _no._ Yet Neal felt he still had to try.

Malfoy chuckled darkly, his haughty gaze lingering on Hermione. "Oh, I wouldn't say that. The blood between us is a bit more... muddy."

_Slap._

Neal had no idea a girl could move that fast. Hermione shot past him and slapped the older blonde across the face. Even Harry and Ron stood frozen with shock.

After an excruciatingly long moment, Malfoy turned his head back slowly to face them. His eyes bore into Hermione's. Her own face flushed red with fury and her body trembled in anger. "How dare you touch me, you filthy little-" he hissed.

"Go ahead!" Hermione taunted, her eyes narrowed at him, issuing a challenge. "Say it again and see where it gets you."

Malfoy gripped his cane with both hands like he wanted to smash her over the head with it. After another agonizingly long moment, Malfoy straightened his shoulders, leveled one last murderous glare at them, and swept out of the room.

Neal heaved a sigh. "What was that abo-?" he began, turning to face the others even as the two boys brushed past him, "-out?" he finished.

"Hermione!" Ron gasped. "Are you all right?"

"I think so," Hermione replied, still clenching her fists.

"Blimey!" Ron breathed. "I knew you were scary, but wow!"

Harry grinned. "I think you're the first person to have taken out both Malfoys. Quite a feat of accomplishment, if I do say so myself."

Neal didn't know what that meant, but Hermione did and she laughed aloud, shattering the remaining tension.

Ron laughed as well. "I don't think he's ever going to underestimate you again."

"As well he shouldn't!" Hermione protested, bristling with indignation. "Gah! I just get so worked up when I think about either of them. I know they've supposedly changed and all of that, but goodness, Harry, did you just _have_ to defend him?"

Harry shrugged. "It was the right thing to do."

Ron grumbled. "Hate to tell you, mate, but I think you got the bad end of that arrangement. I've been wanting to punch that smug little git for years, but he never gave me a solid reason to."

Neal had no idea what they were talking about but he was content to let them ramble. Especially since Peter had finally found where they were and was walking over at a very fast clip with a very disapproving frown on his face.

"Peter," Neal began.

Peter shook his head. "Later. We have work to do. Are you three composed enough so as to not reveal our mission to anyone else?"

The three had the grace to blush. "I'm sorry, Agent Burke," Hermione apologized softly. "It's just that... Lucius Malfoy tends to bring out the worst in me."

"Make that any Malfoy," Ron added. "She's got a wicked right hook with their names on it."

Harry laughed and even Peter grinned a bit at that. "Something I would have liked to have seen," he assured them, "however, I believe our suspects are on the move."

This immediately sobered the group. "What do you want us to do?" Harry asked.

"Remain inside."

"You can't be serious, Peter," Neal protested.

"I am. You'll do less damage in here. We're following Talmon right now. Jones said he disappeared outside."

Hermione looked up as if just remembering something. "Agent Burke! I think Darius is here as well."

"What?"

"He's disguised as a waiter. I think. I didn't get a very good look at him but I'm pretty sure it's him."

Neal realized where he had seen that waiter before. It was two days ago when he perused the file on the case. "It was him," he said. "I ran into him and couldn't place the face but you're right, Hermione, it is Darius."

Peter frowned and planted his hands on his hips. "This complicates things."

"Do you think he's the true seller here?" Hermione asked.

Neal nodded. "It's possible. He was the last known person to possess the horn."

"In that case, Talmon would be a buyer, not a seller," Harry said, catching on.

"And whoever he spoke with is immaterial. He might have just been stalling," Neal finished.

Peter spoke briefly into his microphone, barking a curt order to Jones and Diana. "You three stay here."

With that, he disappeared into the crowd.

Without second thought, Neal went to follow.

"What are you doing?" Ron asked. "Agent Burke said to remain here."

Neal nodded. "And Peter should know me much better than that. To think I would listen to anything he said? Especially at this critical point in time?"

"Who are you after?" Hermione asked.

"Darius. They have their sights on the others, but let's see if we can't get a hold of our slippery friend. He was hovering in this area for a reason."

"Maybe he was trying to work a deal with Talmon," Harry suggested.

"Standing around talking about it won't solve anything. Let's get moving."

After a quick perusal of the room, Neal decided to head to the kitchens to ask about the waiters. The three trailed behind him. Neal knew how Peter felt and he desperately wanted to send them away. They were mere amateurs. He would be caught in an instant. Still, he didn't say anything and the three followed him as he strode through the kitchens with a purpose.

It worked. However, soon enough Neal could see that Darius was not among those inside.

"Excuse me," he said, hailing one of the waiters. "I'm looking for a server named Darius. I think he's new."

"We're all new tonight. The one you're looking for left about ten minutes ago. Through there." He pointed with a free hand to some doors at the end of the kitchen.

"Thanks." Neal said even as he hurried away. _If we're not too late, we might catch him in the act._

The four burst out into the garden courtyard. None expected the scene before them.

In the middle of the pristine rows of flowers, Darius lay sprawled on the green grass, his glassy eyes staring blankly ahead. His head surrounded by a thick puddle of blood. A nearby gun lay discarded beside him.

Standing over the body, his long hair a beacon in the dim light, was Lucius Malfoy. He turned to them, startled, clutching his cane.

Peter arrived then, with Jones and Diana. In a millisecond, all had their weapons drawn, trained on Malfoy.

"Drop it," Peter ordered. Malfoy clenched his cane and his right hand moved to grab the top of it. Three hammers retracted with a resounding click. Malfoy froze.

"Wait!" It was Hermione, pushing past him now. She planted herself in between Malfoy and the three FBI agents, throwing her arms out protectively. "Stop! He didn't kill Darius."

Silence descended on the group. A quick glance at Harry and Ron showed identical expressions of disbelief. Though none looked more stunned than Lucius Malfoy.

"Hermione," Peter began, "we need to take him in. He was discovered next to the body."

Hermione shook her head stubbornly. "He didn't do it!"

"How can you be so sure?"

She hesitated. "I can't say. I just know."

Peter shook his head. "Not good enough. Drop your weapon, Mr. Malfoy."

Impassively, Malfoy finally succumbed and let his cane fall from his hand. It clattered to the ground. He cast one longing look at it as Peter holstered his gun and moved in.

"Lucius Malfoy, I presume," Peter said, sidestepping Hermione and approaching the man. "I need to take you in for questioning regarding the murder of Darius Hainer."

Malfoy, surprisingly enough, allowed Peter to handcuff him and be led out of the courtyard with only a slight sneer. As he passed Hermione, he glanced at her, his eyes burning.

And then he was gone.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Author's Note<em>**: First off, I apologize for the tardiness of this chapter. Something came up at the last minute and I went out of town from Friday until Sunday. Nothing bad, I assure you, just unexpected and left me with no time to properly format this chapter, add in my notes and upload it before I had to leave.

Secondly, during this story I have tried to keep with the spirit of the Harry Potter books, not movies. Ron is not an bumbling imbecile only there to provide idiotic comic relief but rather an intelligent strategist and someone who has a lot of "street-smarts" with regard to the wizarding world, even surpassing Hermione's knowledge at times. Harry is not a tall, brown haired, blue eyed, buffed up wizard but rather a short, skinny, messy-haired black haired, green eyed boy (who I'll concede might have upgraded his round coke-bottle glasses for more stylish frames, but still...) And Hermione is only gorgeous when she tries to be - she still has the frizzy untamed hair during most normal days and has a shrill voice at times and that despite her intelligence is baffled occasionally by things that happen in the wizard world (if you recall, she had no clue what a "mudblood" was in the books until Ron told her. To her, it was a meaningless word. What other little facts and tidbits are still unknown to her but known to a wizard raised in the wizarding world, hmm?)

That being said, Lucius Malfoy's appearance and mannerisms are completely based on the movie. I know, I know... hypocrisy at its finest, right? But let me explain. To me, the character was brought to life by the actor. Before the movies, I really didn't know or care about Lucius Malfoy. The only descriptions we get are that he resembles Draco with his long pale face and cold grey eyes. Nothing else. He's there, but not really fleshed out from his looks or habits. So, I'm using the movie portrayal of his character in this story.

Lastly, I was originally going to have Dudley run into Harry at the gala and go with that, but in the end the more I thought on it the more I realized it would have just been fluff - with no advancement of the plot or any purpose to the story. Dudley would have appeared, done his bit and then vanished. I know I have a bit of fluff here and there in my story (that's what makes some scenes fun!) but there has always been a point to each scene. Dudley appearing would have been pointless plot-wise (though maybe another possible one-shot?) So then I thought Draco would be a good character to add instead, but figured Draco already got enough epilogue time (and honestly, Lucius is ten times more fun to write than Draco, in my humblest opinion). Then my thoughts drifted to Daddy Malfoy. He's like a life-sized version of Draco. I could have him do everything I would have written Draco doing, only using a fresh, new (rarely used) character instead. So, Lucius Malfoy got promoted to... hmm, suspect in a murder investigation, I suppose. Not that good of a promotion, but it's better than being on the receiving end of Voldemort's taunts, eh, Lucius? *cough* Ahem. Lucius disagrees.

Too bad for him.

The next chapter will be on time, but there will be another chapter in the near future that will be delayed until Sunday again. This time, I'll give you guys a heads up on it the chapter beforehand.

Again, apologies for the delay! I hope you're enjoying the story so far :)


	9. Snakeskin Regrets

_Chapter 9: Snakeskin Regrets_

"Hermione, this is mental!" Ron moaned at her. They had followed the FBI agents back to headquarters, where Hermione was demanding to speak to Lucius, Peter, or anyone else related to the case. She prowled the floor before an irate security guard escorted her to the White Collar Division. Neal had vanished along with the majority of the other agents. She could see Peter speaking to Lucius inside of the interrogation room through the one-way glass. The agent paced, but the wizard remained seated. Hermione was sure he was still handcuffed. She almost smiled vindictively, knowing how embarrassed he must be.

"But he's innocent," Hermione insisted.

Harry sighed. "Even I'm not certain I can agree with you on this one, Hermione."

She whirled to them, her face a combination of frustration and anger. "Do you honestly believe Lucius Malfoy is capable of murder?"

"Yes!" both boys exclaimed simultaneously.

"With a gun?"

They paused at this, their mouths gaping open as their brains tried to formulate an answer.

"Well, no," Ron finally admitted.

"He did have his cane still," Harry pointed out. "And we all know that's where he hides his wand."

"You may be right, but we should let him rot here anyway," Ron insisted.

Hermione was aghast. "Ron, we can't!"

"Why not?" he asked stubbornly.

"It's not right."

"As if he would lift a finger to do the same for any one of us?"

"So now you want to sink to his level?"

Ron gaped at her a moment. Then he sighed. "Just don't tell my dad about this, okay? I don't think I'll be able to look him in the eye again if he knew I defended his mortal enemy."

Harry shot him a quizzical look. "Mortal enemy?" he questioned. "Isn't that a bit melodramatic?"

Ron shrugged. "Can you think of a better way to describe their relationship? Malfoy and Dad have always been on the edge of hexing each other every chance they get."

"No," Harry conceded. "It does make sense."

As Peter left the interrogation room, Hermione had an idea. "You two, go distract Agent Burke. I want to question Malfoy alone."

Both of them appeared scandalized at the idea. She tutted. "He's not going to hurt me."

Harry chuckled ruefully. "Honestly, it's the reverse that worries me. Malfoy is still respected somewhat in our world. How will it look if you throttle him?"

She flushed, but got the hint. "I'll control my temper."

She pushed the two toward Peter, where they headed over to intercept him with great reluctance. Hermione slipped around the side. She frowned at the camera pointed through the one-way glass. It didn't appear to be on, but Hermione wasn't one to take chances. With a quick flick of the wand and a muttered "_Accio_", the cord connecting the camera to the wall unplugged. The red light on the camera dimmed. With a satisfied smile, she entered into the interrogation room.

Lucius Malfoy eyed her with disdain as she shut the door behind her. He didn't speak, but Hermione didn't have time to waste.

"Are you here to acquire the Horn of Amalthea?" she asked, cutting right to the heart of the problem.

Lucius didn't answer. He continued to study her with one of his trademark frosty glares, as if daring her to come closer. She noted his cuffed hands with a stab of satisfaction. Clearly, Peter was taking no chances. She defiantly walked to the table and pulled the chair back, sitting resolutely on the hard plastic.

"I'm here to help you," she said.

Nothing.

"They're going to charge you with the murder of Darius," she said.

Still nothing, except another withering glare. Hermione was getting tired of the condescending looks thrown at her by the elder Malfoy. She glared at him right back. Her eyes strayed to his cheek, noticing for the first time that a slight bruise had formed. Sighing, she withdrew her wand from where she kept it strapped to her left thigh and aimed it at him. He didn't even twitch, much to her surprise.

"_Salveo_," she said. The bruise mended itself, the dark color fading to the typical fleshy paleness. She put her wand away and stood, straightening her dress so the telltale bulge on her thigh didn't show. "Mr. Malfoy, you've not a chance of escaping without your wand, which has been confiscated by the Americans. Muggles, to be exact, a fact which I am sure does not sit very well with you. And though prison here might be much more pleasant than Azkaban, it is still prison. How will it look when the _Daily Prophet_ headlines that Lucius Malfoy was sent to a _Muggle_ prison?"

Lucius blanched. Hermione hadn't expected that reaction from him. Anger, perhaps, but definitely not fear. It caught her off guard and she stumbled a moment before regaining her momentum. Unfortunately, it also allowed Lucius to school his expression back into one of disinterest.

"Furthermore," she continued despite the setback, "it's clear to me that despite your abrupt change of loyalty, you're still the same arrogant, vile man that you were back then. I don't believe you killed Darius, if only because you wouldn't stoop to using something as lowly as a Muggle device instead of your wand. However, as I cannot use that as evidence with the FBI, I have to discover other means of procuring your release; primarily I was hoping to discover the real killer. But since you seem content to sit here and not degrade yourself by asking for help from me, then I shall call this a loss and depart to finish my true mission. Enjoy Muggle jail, Mr. Malfoy."

She turned and marched to the door.

"Wait!"

The note of desperation in his tone stilled the hand reaching for the doorknob. When she turned back, his face betrayed none of it, maintaining his icy facade. When she didn't return to the table, Lucius huffed and continued.

"I did arrive in New York City with the hopes of acquiring the Horn of Amalthea. I heard about the theft," he admitted.

"Why?"

He frowned, contemplating her question before finally saying, "I'm sorry, I can't reveal that yet. I assure you, however, that it is _not_ for the reason you think."

"Then why not tell me?" she asked.

He turned his piercing gaze to her, but there was no malice in his expression, only resignation. "You would not believe me. Please, indulge me on this."

She relented. Easing herself back in the chair, she continued her questioning.

"Did you attack Harry the other night?"

Lucius snorted in contempt. "As if I would be so foolish. You forget; I am on your side now."

"Debatable," Hermione retorted. "What happened after...?" she trailed off, recalling exactly why he had left the group in the first place.

His lips quirked slightly. "After you slapped me?" he finished, something akin to amusement tinging his voice. She flushed.

"You called me a Mudblood," she pointed out, straightening her shoulders defiantly. "It was only fair."

His expression told her he disagreed, but let it drop. "I went to find Talmon primarily, but he had vanished somewhere. Instead, I hailed a server who told me he thought he saw Talmon conversing with one of the waiters."

"Darius?" she questioned.

Lucius shrugged. "Probably. Nevertheless, I followed the man's directive and found myself in the courtyard. A brief look around told me I was alone, or so I thought."

Hermione leaned forward, entranced by the way his soft voice built up the suspense.

"What happened then?"

He shot her a dirty look. "I am getting to that, if you don't keep interrupting me with pointless rabble."

Suspense broken.

Hermione leaned back. "Sorry," she muttered, a bit embarrassed.

"There was an unusual smell. I remember thinking about how it vaguely reminded me of Slughorn's potions class. Metallic. Acrid. Burnt sulfur. Floral. A multitude of scents all blending in the air. Some were pleasant. Most were not." He fixed her with another one of his superior looks. "I'm sure you've figured it out already."

She nodded. "A gun recently being fired. Mixed with the scents of the flowers in the garden."

Lucius inclined his head at her conclusion. "I didn't place it right away, not being Muggle-born." She rolled her eyes at how he could turn admitting a mistake into further proof of his own superiority. "So, I ignored what one sense was telling me. I stepped forward into the garden, searching for Talmon or one of the servants. One of the lights above me was broken, casting an unusual patch of darkness around one area. Again, I dismissed another sense as it tried to warn me."

"You didn't know," Hermione began, but Lucius interrupted with a harsh laugh.

"Don't," he said. "Someone like me should always be on guard. Especially with my... history."

Hermione couldn't really argue there, so she let him continue his story. "So you went to the dark spot?" she prompted.

"No," he said, startling her. "I ignored the area. That was my mistake. I walked over to the far side. I realized then I couldn't hear anything. Nothing from the party inside. The walls surrounding the gallery were essentially soundproof. Without a magical ward. My arrogance distracted my third sense from warning me something was wrong. I dismissed the notion that Muggles could use architecture to muffle noise. If I couldn't hear what was happening inside, could the people inside hear what happened outside?" He shook his head ruefully. "Such a foolish mistake. One worthy of a first-year. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. My fourth sense, screaming at me to abandon this futile search. But I could not."

"Why not?" Hermione asked. "Is finding the horn really that important to you?"

He looked up, and she was taken aback by the sudden intensity in his gray eyes. "Yes."

"Why?"

The fire in his eyes died and he leaned back, steepling his fingers together on the table. She noticed the faint remains of the black fingerprint ink on the tips of his fingers, marring his otherwise immaculate appearance. The metallic handcuffs glinted as they reflected the light, but did nothing to diminish the sensation that Lucius Malfoy was completely in control of the situation, regardless of current circumstances. "For another time, Miss Granger. Let's just be content with you forming certain assumptions regarding my person and why I would yearn for a horn that would grant me unlimited amounts of the one thing I desire."

Hermione almost guessed "money" but figured that would be the answer Lucius would expect of her. "I'm not sure I understand your material desires anymore," she confessed.

Lucius shrugged as if to say _your loss_ but didn't supply her with the answer she was hoping. "That's when I noticed the body." He said it so nonchalantly that Hermione knew he wasn't so much bothered by the fact someone had died but the fact that he lost a potential connection to the horn. "Don't give me that look," he added, catching Hermione's expression. "You were rather calm when facing such a situation as well. I went over to have a look and noticed the gun beside him. A primitive yet efficient Muggle device. I picked it up and realized the majority of the smells originated from that gun. It had been used; then discarded. I set it aside when I heard a noise behind me. I turned, having arrived at some conclusion that the perpetrator hid nearby. My eyes lingered on that patch of darkness, certain now more than ever it held the killer. Or used to. In the distance I could see another man slipping in through a doorway. I made to follow, but before I could you four arrived. And that is where you see me now." He sat back and spread his hands. "Now you know everything."

"Not why you're after the horn in the first place," she said.

"Everything that is relevant," he amended. Then he sat back in silence, awaiting Hermione's verdict. The stillness stretched for a long time. Lucius was content to study Hermione with a languid disinterest as she mulled over his tale.

"I'm surprised you know about guns," she said at last.

He snorted in disbelief. "Is that the only thing your feeble mind can process from what I just told you?" He shook his head. "Really, Miss Granger. My son must be a dolt if he was beaten in every one of his exams by you."

She was unruffled by his insult. "Perhaps my mind is so advanced it has already analyzed everything else you just told me. And the one thing that stands out as confusing is how a Muggle-hater like Lucius Malfoy would be familiar with a Muggle weapon."

He leaned forward and winked conspiratorially at her. "It pays to be informed about many things, Miss Granger."

"Well?"

He blinked. "Well, what?"

"Do you want our help? You have to ask first." She hid a bit of satisfaction from her tone, but it was hard.

He frowned. "I told you my side."

"But didn't explicitly ask for our help," she pointed out.

He glared at her but she folded her arms. "Are you enjoying this?" he asked.

"Immensely," she replied cheerfully. "The great pureblood Lucius Malfoy asking a lowly Muggle-born for help. I'll remember this for the rest of my life."

"Get me out of here," he ordered.

"That didn't sound like asking for my help."

He pursed his lips and drew himself together in his best intimidating manner. "Miss Granger, would you please assist me with my current situation?" He finished with a respectable icy glare as if to say _you will help me or else_.

She smiled. "Mr. Malfoy, my friends and I would be delighted to offer our assistance to you."

"Good. I shall not forget this moment, Miss Granger."

She laughed. "You don't scare me, Mr. Malfoy." She fought the impulse to add _not anymore._ It would do no good to give him an ounce of satisfaction.

From his smug grin, she felt certain he knew what she had really meant to say.

And that was where Peter found them, calmly sitting across from each other.

He had been livid of course. Even more so when he realized the two cowering bodies behind him had merely been pawns used to distract the true target. Then he sighed and said he expected this of Neal, so he really couldn't be all _that_ angry. He sighed and motioned them to the door.

"I still can't let you talk to the suspect without permission," he added.

"Why not?" Hermione demanded. "He's innocent."

"To be determined," Peter said. He surveyed the three of them carefully, then swept his gaze to Lucius, who sat back watching the scene unfold with a serene expression. "Two hours ago you were a half step away from strangling this man with your bare hands. And he would quite have happily returned the favor, according to Neal's assessment. Why is he such a good guy now?"

"He's _not_ a good guy," Hermione began hotly.

"Yeah, he's evil," Ron added.

Harry coughed. "Well, maybe not evil anymore, but still not the most pleasant man to be around."

"Arrogant," said Hermione.

"Pompous." That was Ron.

"Self-centered." Hermione again. Harry seemed a bit embarrassed and decided to keep quiet. Lucius, for his part, appeared highly amused as the two continued to describe him.

"Sneaky."

"Manipulative."

"Sadistic."

"Cold-hearted."

"Slimy."

"Antagonizing."

"Deceitful."

Peter looked like his head was about to burst. "Enough!" he shouted, silencing the two. "I get the point. He's the devil incarnate but he somehow can't be a murderer, right?"

Lucius chuckled. "Devil incarnate. I like that one."

Peter pointed a finger at him. "You stay out of this!"

Now Hermione and Ron looked at him in surprise. "We never said that," Ron said.

"Yeah, we completely agree he's capable of murder. We just don't think that he's guilty _this_ time," Hermione concluded. She glared at Lucius for good measure, but he merely smiled indulgently at her and examined his fingernails.

"For once in his life," Ron muttered under his breath.

Harry frowned. "It could be an elaborate ruse. Malfoys are master manipulators."

"A true Machiavellian, I imagine," Peter agreed. At three blank stares (four including Lucius, though he was doing a fantastic job of pretending not to pay attention), he sighed. "Never mind. Can you at least tell me _why_ you are so insistent that your... friend or whatever relationship he is to you... is innocent?"

"It's not his style?" Hermione offered.

"He hates guns," Harry said.

"Absolutely," Lucius agreed.

"Quiet!" Peter shouted to him again. Lucius shrugged and sat back. "Care to explain why his fingerprints were all over the gun if he detests them so much?"

Hermione glared at Lucius once more, but he offered his cuffed hands in mock innocence. "What? I said I had picked up the gun."

This time, Peter leveled his own impressive glare at Lucius. "You felt the need to talk to a civilian but not to me?"

"I trust the civilian more than I trust you," came the calm reply.

"Why did you even do something as stupid as picking up the gun?"

Lucius stifled a yawn. "I didn't know what it was until it was too late."

Peter closed his eyes briefly. Hermione wondered if he was developing a headache. She certainly could feel a dull throbbing behind the backs of her eyes. She wouldn't put it past Lucius to annoy nearly everyone in existence with a headache. His mere presence had that effect. "Fine. But visitation hours are over. Time for you three to return to your hotel and you to return to our holding cell. Unless you want to exchange goodbyes?" He added the last a bit sarcastically.

"No, thanks, Agent Burke. We'll be leaving now," Hermione said. And without a backward glance at Lucius, she swept out of the room. Ron sufficed with one final glare at Lucius before following his wife. Harry didn't make any eye contact.

Outside, the three bumped into Diana.

"Have you seen Peter?" she asked.

Harry nodded. "He's in the interrogation room with Malfoy. I think he's going to bring him to a 'holding cell'?" he spoke the last a bit hesitantly, as if unsure of the terminology.

Diana nodded. "Okay, he asked me to deliver this report as soon as possible."

"What is it?" Hermione asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

"Report on that cane Malfoy was carrying."

The three exchanged glances. "And what did you discover?" Hermione asked at last.

Diana shrugged. "Nothing of interest. We ran it through an x-ray and aside from the obvious decorations, revealed no metal hidden within the cane. When Jones examined it more closely, though, the top part separated from the main section. We thought it might be a hiding spot, but it wasn't hollow. There was a wooden stick attached to the top part. When placed together, it would leave no room to hide anything else."

"What's the significance of the stick?" Hermione prompted, earning a scathing look from Ron. She didn't flinch. She knew where she wanted to lead them.

Diana shrugged. "We don't know yet."

"I saw a cane like that once," Hermione said. "At a museum. It held a small dagger. Maybe Malfoy replaced the dagger with a wooden plug."

Diana tilted her head, mulling over Hermione's explanation. "That's possible," she said. "I'll run it by Peter and see what he thinks."

"What I think about what?" Peter asked, arriving at the group. Lucius was nowhere to be found.

"The cane," Diana said.

"Where's Malfoy?" Harry asked, looking around in the hallways.

"The guard escorted him back to his cell. He'll be spending the night here at least."

"But," Hermione began, even as Peter held up one hand.

"I know," he said, interrupting her, "you claim he's innocent, but so far I don't have any proof of that. You can understand how I cannot accept a character witness for something so serious."

Jones arrived then, carrying his own folder. "The fingerprints on the gun match Lucius Malfoy's," he said, "but they were only found on the edge of the butt and the barrel. None near the trigger or in any position that would indicate he fired it."

"Whose fingerprints were on the trigger then," Peter asked.

"There weren't any," Jones said, handing the report to Peter. "Wiped clean."

"What about GSR?" he asked, scanning through the report.

"None."

At this, Peter raised an eyebrow. "None?" he repeated.

Jones shook his head. "Hands, cuffs, sleeves... all clean."

Peter frowned.

Ron poked Harry. "What's GSR?" he whispered.

Peter answered for him. "Gunshot residue. When a weapon discharges, a bit of the powder gets propelled backwards away from the gun. It usually lands on the hands. By testing for it, we can see if someone fired a gun recently."

Ron thought on that. "And Malfoy's hands were clean?" he clarified after a moment.

"Yes. But he could have been wearing gloves," Peter said.

"That doesn't make sense," Harry said. "Why would he be wearing gloves to fire the gun only to then remove them and leave his fingerprints all over it?"

Hermione's eyes lit up. "See," she pointed out, "that's proof!"

"No," Peter corrected, "this is merely circumstantial. We need more." At her defeated look, he relented a bit. "I know this might be difficult for you, but we'll run his alibi – when he decides to tell us one – and follow up on all leads. Right now, though, your friend isn't helping himself out much by not talking. The law states I can hold him for forty-eight hours without charging him, as long as I have probable cause."

Hermione bit back the instinctive "he's not my friend" reply, and instead zeroed in on exactly what Peter had said. "He didn't tell you anything?"

Peter shook his head. "Sat there in stony silence. Quite admirable, but it's really not to his benefit to remain quiet. Perhaps you can convince him to talk to me?"

Now it was Hermione's turn to shake her head. "I doubt it."

"Too bad then," Peter said.

"Agent Burke," Harry interrupted. "In the interrogation room, you stated Malfoy's fingerprints were all over the gun, but..."

Peter smiled at him. "But how could I have known that if Jones just gave me the report now?" he finished. He surveyed Harry, as if seeing him in a new light. "I was bluffing. Good catch there," he praised. "I wanted to see how our suspect reacted. You three should get some sleep. We'll gather again tomorrow at eight."

Hermione agreed, knowing that since she couldn't talk to Lucius again tonight it was probably best to get some sleep, inform Justin of what happened, and think on a solution in the morning. "Very well."

As the three of them left the office, she heard Peter asking Diana, "Where's Neal?"

* * *

><p>"Where's Peter?"<p>

Mozzie stopped short after bursting through Neal's apartment in a zealous glee. He peered around suspiciously for the FBI agent.

Neal, for his part, raised an eyebrow with a large grin on his face. "Mozzie! You called him Peter."

Mozzie grumbled under his breath. "Slip of the tongue."

"Freudian slip?"

"Don't push it."

Neal held up his hands in mock surrender. "You're late though," he said, changing the subject.

Mozzie shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the rack near the door. "My deepest apologizes, but I arrived as soon as I received your SOS."

"I sent it hours ago."

"I was occupied!"

"With what?"

"Nothing of your concern."

The overly casual ease with which he puttered around Neal's apartment prompted the ex-con to take a critical eye to his friend. "Mozzie, you were visiting Elizabeth, weren't you?"

"What? How could you say such a thing?" Even Mozzie's outrage seemed contrived to Neal.

"Oh, shall I list the reasons? Okay, one, you are never out of contact for longer than an hour at any point during the day or night," Neal said, ticking the points off on his fingers. "Two, you smell like hospital antiseptic, and three..." Neal darted over and snatched a receipt sticking out of Mozzie's pocket, "you were hiding evidence of a dinner at the hospital cafeteria." He dangled the receipt triumphantly.

Mozzie attempted to grab the receipt, but Neal held it over his head, just out of reach. "Fine, yes I went to visit Mrs. Suit. Since she was so kind to visit me in the hospital, I thought I would return the favor."

"How sweet. I'm sure she appreciated it. Did you bring her a get-well-soon gift?"

"Of course! It would only be the gentlemanly thing to do. She'll be thankful when the white-noise generator I gave her blocks any hidden microphones in the room."

"No bendy straws?" Neal joked.

"That is a staple item, often overlooked. I also packed some hand sanitizer in there as well."

"Whatever happened to simple flowers? Maybe a card. Or a balloon?"

Mozzie sniffed. "Practical gifts are a much better indicator of care."

"Peter brought her flowers."

"After he stationed a former NFL linebacker at her room door. I would say that classifies as a practical gift. He is allowed some leniency in future bestowals."

Neal shook his head to clear his thoughts. "Fine, what did you discover about Peter's house?"

An odd expression passed over Mozzie's face. He turned and headed to the kitchen, extracted a bottle of wine and a glass, and poured himself a liberal serving before turning back to Neal. "It's bad," he stated. "The suits were still crawling around there when I arrived. Worse, I overheard them talking to one another."

Neal waited for Mozzie to continue. "And?" he prompted when his eccentric friend continued sipping the wine. Gulping, in fact.

"Relax, Neal, I am just coming to terms with this myself. It's a conspiracy. A real, right now, conspiracy."

"Calm down just a moment, Moz. What are you going on about?"

"Neal, I was there. I heard the suits talking. No evidence of any kind of propellant or fuel. No remains of a bomb, grenade, rocket, anything! It was just like one moment the wall was there and the next, in ruins."

"What about physical objects?"

Mozzie shook his head. "If Peter had come home to discover his house like that, I might believe that a wrecking ball or something had done this. The damage is that intensive. But there's nothing to show for it. It's... a conspiracy."

"Against Peter?" Neal couldn't keep the disbelief from tinging his voice. "I'm more inclined to believe it's revenge."

"Atherton?"

Neal was taken aback. "No, we had thought of someone else. Why do you think it's Atherton?"

Mozzie eased his shoulders upward in a shrug of nonchalance that suggested he might know more than he would be willing to share. "There's a street rumor going around that Atherton's out for blood. He's furious someone had the nerve to steal his property. Remember that stolen Van Gogh a few years back?" When Neal didn't, Mozzie continued impatiently, "You know, it was the one with the woman and the knitting?" He pantomimed the action.

"Ah, yes, that one. What about it?"

"That was Atherton's watercolor. It's rumored once he retrieved the artwork, he had the thieves tracked down and killed."

"A bit over-dramatic, isn't he?"

"This isn't funny, Neal! The point is, if the Suit made an enemy of Atherton, it could explain why he was attacked, if not how."

"And what about Harry? Why Harry and Peter and not any of the others?"

"Harry was attacked?" This was news to Mozzie.

"Night before last. Brushed it off as a 'typical American mugging.' The man's seen one too many movies."

"Well it was an idea," Mozzie pouted defensively.

"And a solid one at that. However, we think it's this other guy that Peter and Harry went to investigate while I tracked down any leads related to Darius."

"Who?"

"He's a street thug we believe got the horn after Vinson was killed." Neal reached over and grabbed the bottle of wine, examining the label before pouring himself a glass.

"No, I was asking who the Suit and Harry went to investigate."

Neal sniffed his glass before taking a long sip. "Wade Talmon. He's a cigar maker."

"Never heard of him."

"Neither have I. He claimed he was new to the area."

"And you believed him?"

"I had no reason not to, Moz."

"Such is the delusion of innocents."

"I can hardly be described as 'innocent'."

"Touché. Still, Neal. You've lost your touch."

"I've lost nothing!" As Mozzie shook his head over what he deemed to be Neal's 'Suitification', Neal had an idea. "Do you think you could convince Alex to stake out Atherton's place?"

"Alex? Whatever for?"

"Call it a gut feeling, but I think this man's involved more than we know. He was at the party tonight, and I remember seeing him at the club."

Glossing over the fact that Neal never had a 'gut feeling', Mozzie decided to ask about Alex instead. "Why can't you ask Alex?"

Neal grimaced. "She likes you better."

"Who doesn't?"

"Please, Mozzie? I would ask you but I know you have better things to do with you time."

"Not really."

"Okay, then do you want to stake out Atherton's place for me?"

"No."

"So you'll find Alex, then?"

A long sigh. "Yes, but you owe me more of that golden monkey tea of Hermione's."

"Deal. Call me the moment Alex discovers anything."

"Of course."

Even after Mozzie left, Neal wondered if he could get her supplier's name for future cases. Finishing off his wine with a large gulp, he set the glass on the counter and went to bed.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Note:<strong>_ Yeah, I got nothing. Sorry it's late, all I can offer is it was a long week. I don't have to work next weekend so I promise chapter 10 will be on time. Maybe.


	10. A True Slytherin?

_Chapter 10: A True Slytherin?_

When Neal entered the FBI headquarters the next morning, Diana sidled up to him and whispered that Peter wanted to speak to him. The look in her eyes didn't quell his anxieties. What had he done wrong now? Nevertheless, it was with a falsely confident air that he strolled to Peter's office and leaned against the door frame with casual elegance.

"Where were you last night?" Peter demanded immediately.

"Went home," Neal said.

Peter fixed him with a stare that demanded the truth. "Really?"

"Yes, really." A pause. "Mozzie came over, too."

Peter grimaced. "I knew it. What are you two planning?"

"Nothing! I had Mozzie take a look around your house."

"My house? Why?"

Neal eased himself into the room and lounged on a chair. "Different perspective."

"What did he discover that escaped the eyes of our trained forensics team?"

Neal smiled slightly. "As I haven't seen the reports from your trained forensics team, I don't know."

"Don't play games, Neal. This is personal. What did Mozzie find?"

Neal knew enough not to push him further. "Nothing. By all accounts, your wall should still be there. No fragments of any blast, bomb, or physical explosion."

"That's it?"

Neal sighed. "Peter, cut him some slack. Mozzie's salivating over the possibility that aliens blasted your wall with a ray-gun and this is one huge cover-up."

The corners of Peter's lips lifted into a smile. "It's that good?"

"It's that clean. Whoever did this used something we can't identify superficially. Let's hope your labs can disprove Mozzie's conspiracy theory."

Peter chuckled. "Let's just say I have more faith in my scientific team than yours."

"That hurts, Peter. It really does."

"Live with it."

Secretly, Neal could handle a few insults if it meant Peter cheered up again. "What happened with your suspect last night? Hermione certainly had a change of heart, didn't she? Do you think their fight earlier was a show?"

"No, based on all three of their actions last night, that group has some mutual animosity for each other. Maybe you can wheedle it out of the three, but our slippery suspect didn't want to talk to me." Peter sipped his coffee.

"A charismatic man like yourself?" Sarcasm laced Neal's remark, but Peter played along.

"Can't imagine why not. Maybe you can get some info from him as well. He spoke to Hermione alone."

"Wait, you let him speak to her alone?"

A glare. "I didn't 'let him' as you so aptly put it."

Now Neal was confused. "She sneaked in? Specifically to speak to the suspect?" He laughed aloud at Peter's curt nod. "This is priceless."

"I never pegged them for con artists, but Harry and Ron distracted me while Hermione slipped in. Took me quite a while to catch on." Peter's expression soured at the memory.

Neal still chuckled appreciatively at the plan. "A classic Patty Lou. Nice!"

"They gave me a brief overview on what he said. It's the usual 'wrong place, wrong time' bit. Hermione did let slip that Malfoy admitted his intentions were to buy the horn."

"You run a check on him?"

Peter held up a sheet of paper. "First thing I did when I walked in last night. He's clean. No record of anything."

Neal glanced over the blank sheet with _No Results Found_ in tiny print. "I wonder what the story is between them."

"Grill them if you want. Just help me get something that can either incarcerate this man or free him. I dislike loose ends."

"And this is a loose end? Seems to me like it's a flimsy excuse."

Peter shook head. "Something about it makes me want to believe them. The fundamental basic truth behind their secrets, at least. My gut tells me he's not our man."

"Trust the gut," Neal intoned.

"What I'm trusting right now is you marching over to the interrogation room and prying some information from Malfoy before the others arrive."

"I'm on it," Neal said with a cheery wave. He nearly collided with Diana on the way out.

"Boss, you're not going to like this," she said, not bothering to apologize to Neal. "Atherton's waiting downstairs, requesting to speak with you. Jones went down to stall him but he's on his way. Just giving you a heads up."

Peter swore under his breath. "Great, just what I need now." He spied Neal still standing there. "Go. I'll handle Atherton. It's probably best that he doesn't see you here."

With a short nod to Peter, Neal scurried away from the office, immensely relieved he didn't have to face Atherton and feeling a pang of pity for Peter. He definitely got the better end of this arrangement.

Twenty minutes later, Neal wondered if he could change places. Lucius Malfoy was sitting in the chair, still dressed in his evening attire from the night before. He raised an eyebrow when Neal walked in.

"Mr. Halden," he said, the arrogant disdain Neal sensed from the previous evening thick in his voice.

"Actually, it's Neal Caffrey," he said, deciding to start fresh. "I'm a consultant for the FBI."

"Really?" From his intoned drawl, Neal suspected Lucius wasn't the least bit surprised by this revelation. "So then Miss Granger was being truthful when she said she had married a Weasley. How... droll."

"You disapprove?"

"No," Lucius replied. "They deserve each other." Neal suspected he didn't mean he wished them well.

"The three of them are assisting the FBI with another investigation."

"The disappearance of the Horn of Amalthea." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes. I heard you were in town seeking to acquire it."

"Indeed."

The candid admission surprised Neal. "Do you know who stole it?"

"I had assumed Wade Talmon."

"But not anymore?"

Lucius' lip curled slightly. "The man is a bloody fool. I realized that last night. He does not have the horn."

"Who do you think has it now?"

Lucius sneered at him. "Isn't that your job, hmm?"

Neal shrugged and decided to change tactics. "How do you know the other three?"

Lucius stiffened slightly. "Our paths have crossed in the past."

"Really?" Now it was Neal's turn for some heavy sarcasm. "I never would have guessed."

Not one to be out-done, Lucius leveled a frosty glare at him. "My son was in the same year during school."

"So why do you have the grudge?"

"My son disliked them. And they him. It was a mutual animosity."

"That still doesn't explain why _you_ hate them."

Amusement flickered across Lucius' face. "I didn't say I hate them. They might hate me, but the accurate word to describe my emotions might be more along the lines of 'disdain'."

Neal sighed. This man was irksome. "Okay, why do you 'disdain' them so much?"

"The Weasley family and mine have always been at odds. I dislike his father as much as his father dislikes me. The Granger girl has a particularly soiled lineage. And Potter... well, his list is much too numerous."

"Really?" Neal had expected a rather long story based on the tension between them last night. This was almost tame in comparison. Maybe Lucius wasn't telling him everything. "That seems like a rather petty excuse."

Rather than rile the man, Lucius actually smiled at the thin barb, his cold gray eyes crinkling with mirth as if he knew a joke to which Neal was not privy. "I think they may also harbor some grudge stemming from the belief that I attempted to end their lives prematurely."

"You tried to kill them?" This was getting better now.

Lucius sniffed, fixing Neal with a superior stare. "Not directly, I assure you, with the exception of a misplaced bout of anger on my part that was aimed at Potter near the end of his second year. They do seem to hold me somewhat responsible for the near-death of Weasley's sister during the same time period and the heartbreaking events at the end of their fifth year. Though, I assure you, the resulting consequences from that little escapade should have long since negated any harsh feelings but you know how people and grudges are. Truthfully, except for a lingering sense of disdain, I don't view them with any more emotion than I would a passing stranger."

This was very interesting. Neal made a note to ask the three specifically about these claims and gauge their reactions. "So why does Hermione insist you're innocent?"

"Because I am."

"Why would she defend you after your sordid past?"

Lucius huffed and rolled his eyes. "Please," he insisted, "don't make it appear we have some dirty affair going on. Miss Granger is a Gry- uh, a special kind of person, and as such, all of her kind deem it necessary to defend the wrongfully accused. Even those such as myself. Between you and me, I am rather enjoying the irony of it all."

"I don't see any irony," Neal said, choosing to ignore Malfoy's slip. He'd be sure to work that into his conversation with the other three later, however.

Lucius shot an enigmatic smile at him. "Of course you wouldn't."

"Care to tell me what happened last night? Peter said you wouldn't talk to him but you talked to Hermione."

"She's going to prove my innocence. I felt it necessary to provide her with details. Your Peter, however, seems intent on incarcerating me. That reminds me, may I have my cane back?"

"No. It's in evidence." Honestly, he didn't know where Lucius' cane was but the smug man didn't need to know that.

Lucius pursed his lips in annoyance, but didn't comment on the matter.

"Peter's just trying to find the truth," said Neal. "Right now, an uncooperative suspect is looking like a nice murderer."

Unruffled, Lucius managed to look down his nose at Neal. How he did so from a sitting position baffled Neal, and a small part of him desperately wished he could learn how to perfect such a move. "I am innocent. It is your job to figure out the real murderer. If I have to keep repeating myself to such simpletons, may I speak to Miss Granger? She at least is an adequate verbal sparring partner. If I'm to be cooped up here, I'd rather keep my wits sharp."

"I'll pass on your sentiments to her. I'm sure she'll be pleased to hear your compliments."

"She won't believe you." A knowing look entered his eyes. "But you can try. Please inform me of the outcome."

Peter entered then, the corners of his eyes crinkled in irritation. Neal guessed that Atherton gave him a hard time.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"We're off the case."

"What?" Neal stood in shock. Lucius blinked as well.

"I'm free to go?" he asked.

Peter glanced to him and for the first time realized that he was there. "Different case," he amended. "Atherton informed me that he no longer needs my services because his recovery team found the horn for him."

"Impossible."

Peter shrugged. "That's what he said. It's back at his home."

"Can we see it?" Neal asked. "For verification."

"I asked," Peter said, "Atherton declined. In fact, he said he was refusing to allow any agent into his home for any reason." Peter shook his head. "No matter, it's out of our hands. Now we can focus all of our time on the murders."

"Murders? More than one?" Both men turned to Lucius Malfoy, studying them with a gleam in his eye. "You failed to mention that fact."

"Different case," Peter barked.

"Is it?" The smug expression on Lucius' face bothered Neal. Apparently, it annoyed Peter as well.

"Yes. The second murder occurred several nights ago, in..." he began, then a strange look passed over his features. "Several nights ago..." he repeated slowly. "Behind..."

Lucius, who had been trying to follow Peter's logic before he trailed off in thought, prompted him like one might encourage a child. "Yes, several nights ago... go on... behind where?..."

Neal ignored the obnoxious man and focused on Peter and his trance-like state. Suddenly, the agent darted from the room. As Neal followed, he heard an exasperated cry from Lucius. They nearly ran into the three from England on their way out. Peter danced around them and continued to his office. Neal slowed, shoved his hands in his pockets, and waited for Peter to come back out.

"What's going on?" Harry asked, a bit baffled by the sudden rush.

Neal shrugged. "Beats me. One minute we were interrogating Malfoy and the next he gets this odd look of revelation on his face and runs out."

Peter returned, holding a file. He glanced at the four of them, then shook his head. "Won't work, already know," he muttered. He thought for a moment, then rushed back to the interrogation room. Bemused, the others followed.

Inside, Lucius Malfoy abandoned his previous stoicism for an expression of pure bewilderment. "Granger! At last! Tell me something semi-intelligent so that I may preserve my sanity!"

"Silence!" Peter barked. He slapped the open folder down on the table. Lucius looked down, then back up at Peter. Neal could see the crime scene photo of Eric Vinson. Peter glanced back at the four gathered. "Not a single word from any of you. This is critical."

Now Lucius looked wary, and rightfully so. He sneaked a subtle glance at the three but their puzzled expressions didn't help. "If we could all just take a deep breath," Lucius said in a low voice, attempting to calm the agent down.

"Knock it off," Peter ordered. "Look at this photo." His finger jabbed at Vinson's corpse. Lucius averted his eyes from the group and looked. "Where was he killed?"

The exasperated glare returned. "How should I know? I'm not a Seer, you incompetent fool!"

Peter leaned into Lucius. "Can you at least attempt a guess at a general location?"

"A city." Lucius spoke this with as much sarcasm and contempt as he could muster.

Peter dismissed Lucius and turned to Harry, who jumped at being put on the spot. "What did Talmon say when we showed him this photograph and told him Neal had been the one to discover the body?"

Harry thought hard. "He asked..." Suddenly, he gasped as understanding cleared his face. "He asked what Neal was doing behind the alley."

"Precisely." Peter smirked in triumph. "And as Mr. Malfoy just demonstrated, there was not a single indicator of how Talmon could have known that fact. Unless he was there. Elle asked where the body was found, but I didn't connect it at the time."

"So I can go now?"

"No."

Lucius glared at Peter. "Talmon was at the party last night."

"Yes, but that doesn't prove anything."

Lucius snapped his mouth shut and swept his cool gaze to the others in the room. "Have you three done anything to get me out of this infernal prison?"

"We're working on it, Mr. Malfoy," Harry assured him.

"How?"

Harry shot him a significant look, which Lucius didn't like but refrained from commenting anymore.

"Mr. Malfoy," Peter said. Lucius turned his attention to Peter. "We found a shoe print near the body."

"I was standing beside the body," Lucius replied, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in his voice.

"This was discovered under the body. Indicating that the killer had been there before Darius was killed."

"And you want to examine my shoes?"

Peter smiled. "I knew you were smart."

Lucius removed his shoes and set them on the table with a loud snap. "I want them back immediately after you're finished," he said coldly.

"Of course, Mr. Malfoy," Peter said. He lifted the shoes. "Attache's Dragon Leather?" he said, reading off the brand on the sole.

"Do be careful with those," Lucius said. "I daresay they're worth more than Arthur Weasley's entire house."

Ron's face brightened to a fascinating shade of pink. Neal, suspecting an ensuing argument, stepped in smoothly. "What are we going to do about Atherton?" he asked, successfully deflecting attention from Lucius.

Peter shrugged. "It's out of our hands now."

"But not ours," Hermione interjected. "Our client still has claim to the horn. It's rightfully his."

"Like I said," Peter repeated slowly and carefully, fixing Neal with a pointed look, "it's out of our hands now. Atherton has it back at his house and he won't let my team verify his claim."

A slow smile crept onto Neal's face. "Peter, don't tell me you're approving this."

"I can't approve something I don't know about. Keep it that way." He turned and walked out of the room.

"Approve of what?" Hermione asked.

Neal leaned back on his heels. "Peter just gave me permission to steal the horn."

* * *

><p>Harry idly wondered what other trouble he could get himself into. He currently had Lucius Malfoy depending on them (here, he still had to suppress a snicker when he thought about it) to clear his name, the Ministry relying upon them to retrieve the horn, and now Neal wanted him to be an accomplice to robbery. He very nearly wished for the days when all he had to worry about was whether or not Draco would knock him off his broom in the upcoming Quidditch match.<p>

"Why me?" he moaned for the millionth time as Neal dragged him to Atherton's home. "And why now?"

"He won't suspect another attempt so soon," Neal muttered. "And you're small." At Harry's incensed glare, Neal coughed. "-Er. Small_er_."

"I can't believe you're going to go through with this, Neal," a familiar voice spoke from beside Harry. He jumped and turned. Mozzie had fallen into a neat stride beside the two of them.

"Where did you come from?" Harry asked.

Mozzie ignored Harry and continued talking to Neal. "This is one of your stupider ideas," he said bluntly. "If Atherton discovers you, he'll take action. At the very least you'll go back to prison. The Suit won't protect you this time. At the most, you'll end up as fish food on the bottom of the Hudson."

Neal stopped and turned to Mozzie, rolling his eyes. "Don't be so dramatic. I just won't get caught." And with a confident grin, he resumed walking.

Mozzie threw his arms up in exasperation. Harry, at least, could identify with him on this. "Neal! Be serious for once. You think it will be fun to tweak the nose of Atherton." He hurried to catch up to Neal.

"Don't you?"

"Beside the point. This house is a fortress. Not quite a Fortress of Solitude but it rivals a close second for impossible entry points."

"Vinson succeeded. Are you telling me a street punk can outsmart us?"

"And he's dead! Neal, it worries me you fail to fully grasp the situation."

Exasperated, Neal whirled on Mozzie. Harry hesitated a few steps behind them. "Are you going to help me or not?" Neal asked, glaring at Mozzie with an impressive evil eye. _He must have been taking notes from Lucius Malfoy,_ Harry thought.

Mozzie shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "C'mon, man. When have I ever left you high and dry?"

A slow grin took over Neal's face. "Thanks," he said.

"Alex is hiding somewhere nearby," said Mozzie. He pulled out his phone. "She's supposed to send me the layout once she establishes it."

Neal raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Alex is helping? Why?"

Fixing his friend with a knowing stare, Mozzie said in a voice almost too soft to be heard, "Do you think Atherton's only affected your life?"

Neal smiled at him, a genuinely warm smile. "Will you be gracing us with your skills inside?"

Mozzie leaned back. "No, I was thinking I would run a little interference with Alex."

"Come on, I need someone to watch my back."

Mozzie nodded to Harry. "You have him."

"He's an amateur."

Harry bristled but couldn't really disagree. "I'm right here you know," he announced unnecessarily. Mozzie and Neal ignored him.

Mozzie gave Neal a comforting smile. "We got your back out here. Take him in and make us proud."

A ringing prevented Neal from answering. Mozzie extracted his phone and spoke briefly into it before hanging up. "Alex says Atherton's leaving now to go to his afternoon workout session. Now's the best chance we'll have."

"He doesn't have guards?" Neal asked, his voice sharpening into what Harry could only describe as professional. Neal had slipped into his element.

Mozzie shook his head. "Only the one out front. I'll distract him. Alex will keep watch. Oh, and Neal, keep your phone handy."

"Always do. Let's go, Harry."

Neal turned and headed to the mansion, with Harry trailing a half-step behind. Mozzie watched them leave with a content smile on his face. Then he took out his phone and dialed a number. "Let's go. We have our work cut out for us."

They approached Atherton's home, slowing as they neared to scout the place. Neal's phone buzzed and he glanced at it for a moment. "The guard's in the shack, but he just finished a round around the house, so we're good until his next circuit in-" he glanced at his watch, "-ten minutes."

"Ten minutes?" Harry exclaimed. "Isn't that cutting it close?"

Neal nodded, scanning the area absently. "That's why we have partners. Alex also said there are cameras around the perimeter. Think you can find them for me?"

"Me?" Harry asked. "Why?"

"You did well with the uniforms. Something tells me you can hide a lot better than the others give you credit for. If not, I can try to disable them somehow."

"No," Harry said, knowing that Neal spoke the truth. "I'll go. How many?"

"Three that we're worried about. They're around back."

"Meet you here?"

Neal nodded. "You got ten minutes," he reminded him.

Harry slipped away, edging along the pavement that would take him around the back of the home. He spotted the first camera right away and, slipping his wand out of his jacket pocket, was about to reduce it to a pile of plastic rubble when he thought better about it. He wished he had his invisibility cloak. He could just sneak up and unplug it. He frowned, thinking hard for a moment, then smiled.

"_Aquari revolus_," he mumbled, pointing his wand straight at the camera. A thin stream of water shot out of his wand and sped toward the camera. When it hit the target, the water spread to form a ball around the camera, essentially replicating dunking it into a pool of water.

Harry waited for the inevitable short-circuit but nothing happened. He frowned. The camera must be extremely weatherproof. He lowered his wand and the water splashed to the ground.

"Bother!" he exclaimed, finally aiming his wand at the camera with an annoyed, "_Annullolevis_!" Lightning crackled and the camera finally short-circuited as he blasted it with the spell. "One down."

Finding and neutralizing the other two proved exceptionally easy with his ability to knock them out at a long range. He headed back to join Neal just as the guard left his post.

"About time," Neal said. "I was about to go find you."

"Three cameras in ten minutes? Not a lot of time for me to work."

"Did you get them all?

Harry shot him an offended look. "Of course."

"Good. When the guard comes back, that's when we move."

"Ten minutes to get in, steal the horn, and get out? Doesn't sound like much time," Harry said doubtfully.

Neal pointed to the end of the block, where if Harry squinted he could spot Mozzie lurking in the shadows. "Mozzie will distract the guard at the eight minute mark. It will buy us enough time to get back out. If we're longer than fifteen minutes, we deserve to be caught anyway."

Harry wasn't at all comforted. Sure, he could just Apparate away, but then that would leave Neal behind. He hoped this plan worked. He really didn't want to share a jail cell with Lucius Malfoy.

"The guard's back. That's our cue. Let's go."

And with that, Neal started down the pavement, a reluctant Harry at his heels.

Neal darted over to the back door and withdrew from his pocket a thin leather wallet. He pulled out two small strips of metal and bent over the doorknob. After a moment of poking at the lock, the door popped open. Harry was surprised how fast he opened it without the use of an Unlocking Spell. They slipped inside and closed the door behind them. It shut with a soft click.

Inside, Neal headed to the main room, where he stopped short. "I had been so certain it would be here," he mumbled, glancing around at the suits of armor.

"I doubt he would keep it where it was stolen again," Harry reasoned.

Neal shot him a look of disbelief. "Atherton is arrogant and cocky. He wouldn't hesitate to put it in sight where every time he looked at it he would be reminded that he bested the FBI."

"Sounds like Lucius Malfoy," Harry muttered.

Neal studied him for a moment. "You guys really don't like each other, do you?" Neal headed into another room.

Harry shrugged. "We've had a bad past. It's hard to let the past die sometimes."

"Especially when he tried to kill you."

Harry started in surprise. "How did you know?"

"Malfoy told me."

Harry chuckled. "He didn't actually directly do anything but he was heavily involved nonetheless."

Neal frowned at an expensive Ming vase in the corner of a room. He didn't appear to have heard Harry. He walked over and bent low, peering intently at the vase.

"What is it?" Harry asked, standing beside him.

"This vase. It's out of place."

"How so?"

Neal straightened and swept his arm around the room. "This entire area is medieval themed. Why would a third century Chinese vase be in with tenth century European pieces?"

He lifted the vase. It was attached to a lever. A loud click sounded from across the room. When they turned, a tapestry had moved outward, opening a small space behind it.

"Bingo," Neal said. He headed to the curtain. "So what changed your mind?"

"Hmm?" Harry said.

Neal glanced at Harry. "About Malfoy. What changed?"

"He did."

Neal pushed the curtain aside to reveal a small room with a handful of artwork inside. He stepped inside. "You really think people can change their fundamental beliefs?" he asked, turning to face Harry squarely.

Harry paused in mid-step, taken aback by the tone. "Er," he thought on it. "I think that people can adapt to circumstances and change who they are based on outside interference."

"What do you mean?"

"I think that events shape who you are today. Lucius Malfoy is still the pompous little git he was when I was a kid, but I think that if today he was presented with the same choices he was back then, he wouldn't make the same mistakes."

"He learned, then?"

Harry pondered on this. "Maybe," he admitted, "but I think it's more that his priorities changed. His desires at the end of the... uh... incident... had surpassed any glory he may have obtained from the start. But yes, I do believe people can change."

Something passed over Neal's face and he turned from Harry. "He's a true Gry—uh, I mean courageous person, then?" He shot a sidelong look at Harry to gauge his reaction.

Harry laughed. "No," he admitted. "Cunning and clever, perhaps, but courageous would never be a word to describe Lucius Malfoy."

Inwardly, Harry smiled at deflecting suspicion from Neal's use of Gryffindor. It was a very good thing Lucius Malfoy had been sorted into Slytherin, else Harry might have accidentally revealed something in his astonishment. He assumed that Malfoy had accidentally messed up in the same way Neal had "slipped" just now. _Clever man,_ Harry thought, watching Neal carefully. _He nearly got me there._

"Here it is," Neal said, stopping in front of a glass case toward the back. The Horn of Amalthea lay inside, glittering in the light Atherton shone on it. Harry ducked and glanced inside the horn. He spied faint markings etched in the back and smiled.

"That's it," he agreed. "Now how do we get it out?"

"With these," Neal held up his lockpick set again.

"Erm, actually, might I have a go at this?" Harry offered. "I've done some things like this in my line of work and these locks might be a bit dodgy."

Neal relinquished the picks to Harry. "I can open it in sixty seconds," Neal said. "You have that long, else it's my turn."

"I'll have it open in thirty, but I'm not showing you my tricks. Go check out the main room again and then come back. I'll have the case open by then."

Disbelief flashed across Neal's face but he obeyed, turning on his heel and walking away.

Quick as a Snitch, Harry whipped out his wand and pointed it at the case. "_Alohomora_," he whispered. The lock opened and Harry lifted the case. He replaced his wand in his pocket with a satisfied smile.

Neal returned a moment later. He looked at the case in surprise. "Well done, Harry," he praised.

"Thank you. All yours," he said, sweeping his hand to the horn.

Neal stepped back, an unusual expression darkening his eyes. "I better not," he said at last. "It belongs to you after all."

Harry nearly swore in exasperation. Here they were, right in front of the horn, about to fail their mission. Harry couldn't touch the horn and Neal refused to.

"I can tell it's something you want," Harry said. "But everyone's allowed to enjoy a moment of victory. Go on. It'll be the last time you see it."

That spurred Neal into action. He reached forward and gently lifted the horn from its resting place, holding it up to examine it in great detail. "Amazing," he muttered, "absolutely stunning."

Neal's phone buzzed then, and he set the horn back down to look at it. His face paled.

"Atherton's back early," he said. "We need to go."

"What? I thought your friend was going to distract him!"

"He is. Alex sent me the message. Mozzie's posing as a reporter doing a follow-up story about the theft. He's buying us time but we need to move now." Neal picked the horn back up and hurried out of the room.

In the main parlor, Neal pushed the wall shut and headed to the hallway when he paused a moment, thinking on something hard.

"Neal?" Harry prompted when the ex-con wouldn't move.

Neal shook himself out of his thoughts. "Sorry," he apologized, sending a longing look up the stairs. "Okay, let's go. The door's over there."

Harry headed toward it, with Neal following, but before he had taken more than a dozen steps, the handle jiggled a bit. Startled, Harry ducked into the closest room.

"Neal, what are we going to do now?" Silence. "Neal?" Harry turned, expecting to see the consultant standing behind him, but there was only empty space.

Neal Caffrey had vanished with the Horn of Amalthea, leaving Harry to face Atherton all alone.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Note:<strong>_ This is the chapter I warned you about. I'll be internet-less from Sunday to Sunday, so my replies to any reviews along with the next chapter will be delayed until Sunday or Monday. I'm sorry, but this was unavoidable (unlike the last few chapters...) But hey, look! This chapter is on time!


	11. A True Gryffindor

_Chapter 11: A True Gryffindor_

Harry was used to feeling like a fool. Quite often back at Hogwarts he was subjected to ridicule by either Snape, Malfoy, or any other Slytherin.

This was one such time.

He stood in the dark room, forcing his breathing to slow as he heard Atherton lock the door behind him. Slow but heavy footsteps sounded faintly, approaching his room. Harry held his breath as Atherton passed his hiding spot and continued onward. He slipped his wand out of his pocket and held it ready. _Where did Neal disappear to?_ He thought. _And why?_

Harry pondered his options. One, he could slip out of the door and back around the pavement. Two, he could sneak around trying to avoid Atherton without the use of his Invisibility Cloak and look for Neal. Or three, he could use magic and escape.

_Neal abandoned me to face Atherton. He betrayed me and stole the horn. _With those thoughts on his mind, Harry lifted his wand, turned in a half-circle, and vanished with a sharp crack.

He Apparated onto the pavement a block away from the house. He hurried back, hoping to perhaps intercept Neal as he came out. Instead, he ran into Mozzie.

"Where's Neal?" Mozzie asked, sporting a suit jacket and one of Neal's outrageous hats.

"I could ask you the same," Harry began angrily. "Aren't you his friend?"

"He was with you."

"Key word: was."

Mozzie rounded on Harry. "You _left_ him in there?"

Harry angrily swatted Mozzie away. "He left me first."

"What?"

Harry continued down the pavement, though he wasn't sure why because the house was in front of him and there was no way for him to get inside. "He left me standing in the hallway, facing Atherton."

This time Mozzie did grab Harry. "Atherton saw you?"

Harry stared at the man, confused by the sudden wariness. "No," he said at last. "I ducked into a room and slipped out after he went by."

Mozzie visibly sagged, releasing his hold upon Harry. "But Neal's still in there," he remarked, staring accusingly at Harry.

"After leaving me to get caught by Atherton."

"I'm sure it's all a misunderstanding."

"Possibly," Harry said darkly, though his tone implied he didn't think so.

"We won't find anything out until we get Neal out of that house," Mozzie said.

"Done," a cheerful voice called out from behind them. Both men turned to see Neal sauntering over with his usual flair.

"Neal!" Mozzie exclaimed happily.

"Where's the horn?" Harry demanded.

Neal raised one eyebrow at Harry's anger. "It's right here," he said, pulling it out of his jacket. Mozzie let out something suspiciously akin to a squeak and Neal smirked, handing the horn to his friend. "What's up?"

"You left me back there," Harry accused.

Mozzie sputtered a bit, coming to Neal's defense. But to Harry's surprise, Neal flushed.

"Sorry," he apologized, looking very contrite. "I had to follow through with a hunch. I figured I could meet up with you out here."

"Before or after Atherton caught me?" Harry shot back.

Surprise flitted across his features. "Atherton caught you?"

"No, but no thanks to you. I had to hide in a room and sneak out behind him."

Neal flushed darker. "I'm sorry," he said again, "I didn't figure on him using the back door. It was my fault. I didn't intend to get you caught."

Harry studied the man before him, deciding whether or not to take his word. He recalled Peter saying that he trusted Neal but he could rarely ever pin down a straight answer on him.

"So what were you doing?" Harry asked.

In reply, Neal pulled out his phone and showed Harry and Mozzie a picture of a shoe. Mozzie still cradled the horn, occasionally shooting loving glances at it like all his biggest conspiracy theories had just come true.

"What's that?" Mozzie asked, peering at the screen.

"Atherton's shoe."

Harry nearly rolled his eyes.

At their confusion, Neal _did_ roll his eyes. "Perhaps Malfoy was right. Hermione must be the brains behind your group."

Harry glared at Neal but didn't really object. He would be first to admit Hermione usually figured things out faster than either him or Ron.

"So why don't you just tell me?" he snapped in irritation. Neal smiled.

"Look at the tread," he said, pointing to the screen. Harry squinted but failed to see what captivated Neal's attention. "It's the same pattern as the one Peter found underneath Darius' body."

Harry gasped. "Atherton killed Darius?"

Neal shrugged. "Wouldn't put it past the slimy dirtbag. But we need more proof if we're going to convict him. This might be enough to convince Peter to release your friend but not to bring in Atherton for murder."

"You left me just to get a picture of his shoe?" Harry asked in disbelief.

Neal shrugged again in an overly casual manner. "I wanted to snoop around for evidence to convict him. The shoe was the first thing I found. I had to hustle out of there rather quickly because I heard Atherton coming up the stairs."

Harry was floored. Here, he had just thought Neal had abandoned him, but the man risked capture so he could find evidence to release Malfoy. "I'm sorry," Harry said. "I thought you had betrayed me."

Neal waved his hand. "Think nothing of it. Oh, that reminds me," he said as Mozzie handed the horn back to him. "I believe this belongs to you." He held out the horn to Harry.

"Are you sure?" Harry said doubtfully, not too eager to touch the horn.

Neal swallowed once before nodding. "It's the right thing to do. Your client deserves it more than me. And definitely more than Atherton."

Harry held his breath as he accepted the horn. As soon as the horn touched his hands, Harry nearly sagged with relief. He had it. The Horn of Amalthea! Mission accomplished.

Now all they had to do was destroy it.

Easier said than done. They needed a large space. Perhaps Justin would know of an area.

"Let's head back to headquarters," Neal suggested, tucking his phone away. "Thanks for all of your help, Mozzie. Tell Alex I said thanks as well." He snatched the hat atop Mozzie's head and dropped it on his own.

Mozzie smiled. "Nail Atherton for us," he said. "Put him away for good and that will be thanks enough for Alex. You know we go back too far to owe each other anything."

And with a final nod at Neal, Mozzie headed down the pavement in the opposite direction. Neal turned to Harry. "I'm going to head back and talk with Peter. Do you want to come?"

Mindful of the horn in his hands, Harry tucked it away under his jacket. "Er, I better not. I need to report to my client on our success."

Neal nodded in understanding. "We'll be in touch when we find out more."

With that, Neal headed on down the pavement to the FBI headquarters. Harry ducked into an alley and glanced around, checking to make sure no one was nearby. Finding the alley to be empty of any prying eyes and ears, he raised his wand and disappeared.

* * *

><p>"Yes, Justin, we got the horn. No, we really need to destroy it. Yes, we're looking for a large deserted area." Harry grinned as Justin kept asking him over the phone if it was really true they had the horn.<p>

After Apparating into the hotel, Harry showed the horn to Ron and Hermione with a brief synopsis of his adventure, and then sent an owl to Justin detailing the situation. Not fifteen minutes after the owl departed, the phone rang. Justin, being overly familiar with Muggle items, rang the hotel room immediately to discuss this turn of events with them.

"Why are you calling on a Muggle phone?" Harry asked at last. "Why not just Apparate here?" There was a long pause. "Oh. I see."

Justin explained that a highly influential wizard had come into the office, raising a fuss. He couldn't Apparate away until the furor had died.

"I think I can put in a request to cordon off an area for you, though," he said. "It will be by the docks. That's our usual destruction area. It's far enough away from Muggle interference that they won't notice anything out of the ordinary, and we've warded the place pretty secure now after a rather embarrassing incident involving some homeless Muggles and a rampaging unicorn."

"Unicorns rampage?" Harry asked before he could stop himself.

"Only when they're frightened. They don't take too kindly to Muggles in the first place and when they're cornered it has led to some nasty unexplained stabbings in the Muggle world."

"Don't the Muggles start to notice a pattern to the stabbings?"

Justin laughed. "In New York City? You must be joking. Anyway, give me a couple of hours to put in the request with my superiors, okay?"

"What do we do in the meantime?" Harry asked.

"Enjoy some tea? You've earned a chance to relax."

Harry sighed as he replaced the phone and informed Hermione and Ron what Justin said.

"We could always play some chess," Ron suggested.

Harry grimaced. "I'd rather play Exploding Snap, but I left my cards at home."

"Our brooms, too, else maybe we could have gone somewhere and practiced Quidditch."

Hermione took out a book and sat in the cushy chair by the window. "I really don't care what you two decide, but I'm going to read for a bit." Ron rolled his eyes as if to say _as usual_ but Hermione didn't see. "Maybe you could go downstairs and have some tea like Justin suggested."

Harry shrugged. That sounded as good as anything they had come up with so far. He was looking forward to a few hours of relaxation.

* * *

><p>"Peter!"<p>

Peter turned from where he had just about to enter his office as Neal bounded into the floor. He darted up the stairs leading to Peter's office two at a time. He beamed as he practically quivered with excitement.

"What?"

"Mission accomplished."

"You come running in here like a deranged ape just to inform me of that?"

Neal pulled out his cell phone and herded Peter into his office before shutting the door. "I got a lead."

Peter perked up. "That's better." He accepted Neal's phone. His face blanched. "Is this what I think it is?"

"Depends on what you think it is."

"Neal..."

"Yes, it's a shoe I found in Atherton's bedroom."

Biting back the urge to ask what he was doing in Atherton's bedroom, Peter instead sighed. "I can't use this as evidence."

"But it should be enough to release Mr. Malfoy, right?"

Peter thought on that. On one hand, he wouldn't mind holding the arrogant jerk in his cells a bit longer. On the other hand, they really didn't have any solid evidence to hold him. If he wasn't going to press charges, he should release him. In fact, he was surprised Malfoy hadn't brought up that point to him already. It was obvious the man was extremely wealthy, he should easily be able to afford one of those expensive attorneys normally used to make Peter's life miserable. Perhaps it was because he was British. He might not know the American customs.

"I suppose," Peter reluctantly agreed. He opened the door to his office. "Jones!" he barked. "Retrieve Lucius Malfoy's personal belongings. I'm releasing him."

Neal smiled. "You'll get in on good terms with those three from England."

Peter ignored him. "Want to come with me to be the bearer of good news?"

"Nah, I think I'll sit here and ponder how we can get a warrant for Atherton's home."

Peter smiled at him. "For once I'm ahead of you. Diana said that some cameras from across the street were pointed at the museum. They caught the whole incident. We're just waiting for forensics to confirm the facial recognition match. Then we'll go to a judge for a warrant."

Neal smiled back. "Then it sounds like I might enjoy giving Mr. Malfoy some good news." He stood and buttoned his jacket. "Lead on."

Jones met Peter outside of the interrogation room and handed the cane to him. "This was the only thing they confiscated from him."

"Thanks. Let me know what Diana discovers. The sooner the better," Peter said. Jones nodded and disappeared down the hall. Peter opened the door and wasn't surprised to see Malfoy's cool gray eyes locked onto him.

"Neal and your friend Harry uncovered some evidence during the course of their investigation that, while I cannot use in court, have nonetheless swayed me to believe in your innocence," Peter said. He set the cane down on the table and unlocked Malfoy's cuffs. "You're free to go."

"Just like that?" Malfoy sneered.

Peter smirked. "We would advise you not leaving the country. In fact, we advise you staying in the same hotel as your British friends." He nearly laughed aloud at the incredulous look of chagrin that appeared on Malfoy's face.

"You cannot possibly think that I would stay in such a place." he exclaimed.

Peter shrugged. "It's either there or here. Your choice."

Malfoy picked up his cane and clutched it for a long moment, glaring at the senior agent. Peter calmly returned the stare. Malfoy relented at last. "Take me to it," he ordered.

"An agent will escort you. Good day, Mr. Malfoy."

Malfoy wordlessly swept past them with his aristocratic flair. Neal sighed as he left the room.

"Can you really imagine Harry and them being friends?"

Peter chuckled and shook his head. "Nope. But that's their business. We have a murderer to catch."

"Talmon?"

Peter frowned. Neal touched a sore point. "Talmon's whereabouts are currently unknown. No, I was referring to Atherton."

Neal shoved his hands into his pockets. "Let's hope we get that warrant soon."

As if he said the magic words, Diana rushed over with Jones on her heels. "We got it!" she exclaimed, waving a thin pamphlet of paper high in the air. "The facial recognition software matched, which was enough for the judge to grant us a warrant."

Peter smiled. "Let's go then."

* * *

><p>"This is the place?" Ron exclaimed as they approached the warehouse. It was well into evening, and after the sun set, a chilling wind swept across the bay. Harry buttoned his cloak.<p>

Hermione double checked her paper. "This matched the description Justin sent us."

They stood on the edge of a run-down district. Rusted chain-link fence bore battered _No Trespassing_ signs. Beyond the fence, several desolate building stood against the darkness. Most appeared to be in various states of disarray. One or two had red _Condemned_ stickers plastered onto the sides. Bits of rubbish drifted about in the sharp breeze. Harry suspected the slightest bit of magic would send the whole place crumbling to the ground like a house of cards. Exploding Snap cards.

"Well, let's get this over with. The sooner we rid ourselves of this artifact, the sooner we can return home," Hermione said. She withdrew her wand and with a graceful swish, unlocked the rusty padlock on the fence. She pushed at the fence. It opened with a slow grinding creak. She slipped inside and headed to one of the vacant warehouses. "We're looking for Building 8."

As they got farther into the derelict lot, the buildings looked even more ominous up close. Harry peered at the boarded up windows and the smashed glass peeking through. Then, abruptly, everything changed.

Harry thought for a moment he walked under a cold stream of water. He shivered as an intense feeling of foreboding nearly overwhelmed him. He wanted to flee. Setting his jaw stubbornly, he ignored the fear flooding inside him and stepped forward once more. Just as suddenly as the trepidation appeared, it vanished. And with it, so did the dingy structures. He was now facing a row of pristine stone facilities with clean numbering near the doors.

"A ward!" Hermione exclaimed gleefully. "I should have known."

Feeling foolish that he hadn't thought of that either, Harry concentrated on finding building 8. He did feel a bit better that Hermione didn't pick up on wards. He shared a look with Ron and the redhead clearly shared his sentiments.

"There," he announced, pointing to a building resting near the waterfront. A gleaming bronze 8 announced that they had indeed arrived at the proper building.

"Do you have the dagger?" Hermione asked.

Ron patted his pocket. "Right here."

"And the horn?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Hermione, we have it."

"Right. Just checking."

"Oh no," Ron exclaimed in mock astonishment, "I think we forgot the directions!"

Hermione retorted with a playful swat to his shoulder and Ron laughed.

As they approached the door, Harry noticed it was already cracked open and light streamed from inside. Frowning, he withdrew his wand and motioned to the others to stop. They did. Harry pointed to the light.

"Wands ready," he whispered. The others drew their wands as well. Harry leaned forward and peeked through the door. Spying no one in sight, he opened it a bit and slipped inside.

Inside, multiple crates lined crudely structured metal shelves. Looking at the layout and remembering the pristine order of the Department of Mysteries brought a smile to Harry's face at the comparison. This place was clearly held together only by magic. And even that was stretching it. One shelf levitated in mid-air.

Loud voices returned Harry back to the situation at hand. He crept forward, mindful of his friends beside him. He crouched behind one box and peered around the corner. And nearly gasped in shock.

"Where are they?" Wade Talmon demanded, pacing the floor in an erratic pattern.

Beside him, sitting on a table with his legs dangling casually off the edge and his hands folded calmly in his lap, was Justin Moretti.

"Relax," Justin replied, a bit too loudly for Talmon's liking, "they'll be here."

"Shh," Talmon hissed. "They'll hear you."

Justin shrugged. "You have the advantage on them here," he said, making no effort to lower his voice.

Talmon rounded on him then, thrusting his wand into Justin's face. "_If_ you set the wards properly."

Justin smiled. "You were watching me. You know what the wards do. They'll alert you the moment the horn arrives."

"Good." Talmon resumed his pacing.

Harry was floored. _Justin_ was the wizard who betrayed them? Harry didn't want to believe it. Justin had stuck up for them at the ministry, backed them up at the ball, and offered valuable advice when they needed it most. He looked at Hermione and Ron, both of whom bore equally dumbfounded expressions.

"Justin led us here, planning to trap us," Ron whispered. "He never intended for us to destroy the horn."

Too late, Harry recalled how Justin always insisted they not destroy the horn. White hot fury coursed through him and he stood, clenching his wand.

He shook off Hermione, who hissed at him and grabbed at his robe, and strode out from behind the crates. He stalked forward, leveling his wand angrily at the two wizards in front of him.

Talmon heard him coming and turned around, pointing his wand at Harry in kind. Justin remained sitting with a stunned expression.

"Surprised to see me?" Harry snarled to the American Auror.

"You're an idiot," Justin said softly. Harry ignored what he thought to be sadness in his voice. "A true idiot, and that's something."

"Mr. Harry Potter, if I am not mistaken?" Talmon asked. "I recall you from when you and your FBI friend came to interrogate me. Tell me, is he lurking about in the shadows as well? I pegged him as a Muggle, but you surprised me."

"He _is_ a Muggle," Harry said.

"Ah. Then where are your other friends?" At Harry's silence, Talmon gave a thin smile. "Come out come out wherever you are," he taunted in a sing-song voice. "Or I shall be forced to kill your friend. Really, all I want is the horn."

"It's right here," Harry said, pulling it from his robes. Talmon gaped at it, a hungry glint in his eyes. Justin closed his eyes in defeat and hung his head. Harry tossed it on the table. "Go ahead."

Talmon reached for it, then hesitated. "It's a trap."

"Maybe," Harry replied. "But I can touch it. Maybe you can now, as well."

Talmon sent another longing look at the horn, then flicked his wand over to Justin. "You get it."

"Me?"

"Do it!"

Justin reluctantly pushed himself off of the table. He studied the horn for a moment before Talmon impatiently motioned with his wand. "Go on, then."

Justin circled the horn and approached it opposite to where Talmon was staring at it. He glanced to Harry, and his eyes seemed to be telling Harry something. Just as quick, Justin returned his gaze to the horn. He slowly reached out with a tentative hand.

"_Reducto!_" a voice shouted.

Harry instinctively dove to one side as a streak of light blazed past him. The table in front of him exploded into hundreds of splinters. The horn flew upwards and clattered on top of some crates.

Harry covered his eyes as shards of wood rained down on him. A hand encircled his wrist and yanked him behind some crates. Talmon had been thrown back by the explosion and he staggered behind some crates on the opposite side of the warehouse.

Harry looked up into the blazing eyes of Justin Moretti. "You stupid idiotic numbskull!" the young American seethed at him. _Numbskull?_ Harry thought dully. "What were you thinking?" Justin dragged Harry farther back behind the crates, where Ron and Hermione joined them. He ignored them both, focusing on berating Harry.

"You didn't stop to think for just one moment that my wards were designed to scare you away? Did you listen to reason? No! You just _had_ to come in here, completely disregarding my not-very-subtle hints to _stay away._"

Harry just sat there, stunned, as the American continued to rant at him. He said the first thing that came to mind. "You betrayed us. You wanted the horn for yourself."

Justin snorted at him in utter contempt. "You really _are_ a stupid blind fool, aren't you?" he said, the ice in his voice only matching the cold fury etched in his face. "I was trying to warn you _against_ coming in! Talmon discovered what you were going to do here and attacked me outside of the Ministry. I can't believe you actually thought I would betray you. After everything I did to stick up for you in the Ministry and all the help I've given you. Some friend you turned out to be."

Hurt replaced the anger in Justin's face as he turned from the three and glared out into the room. The dust had settled somewhat, and Harry could see the horn gleaming in the faint lighting. He wondered where Talmon was. He caught a look at Justin. _He spoke extra loud so we would be sure to spot him._ All at once, immense guilt swept through him. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Harry's a real dolt, if you couldn't tell," Hermione said. "We tried to stop him from jumping out so stupidly, but as you can tell he tends to have a mind of his own."

"What?" Harry exclaimed.

"Harry, Justin was clearly Talmon's prisoner. It was obvious based on the way Talmon kept his wand trained on him. I tried to tell you that before you attacked blindly, but you wouldn't listen." Hermione turned to Justin. "For the record, he does this often enough to have a betting pool going among the Aurors at home."

Justin smirked slightly. Harry flushed. "They do _not_ have a betting pool going on."

Ron chuckled. "Actually, mate, I won the last two rounds."

Harry gaped at his two friends. Justin smiled at last. "I believe you. We have better things to do, though. Where's Talmon? How are we going to get the horn?"

"And who fired that Reducto spell?" Hermione added.

Justin turned to them in surprise. "But I thought you did."

Hermione shook her head. "We weren't in the right angle. We might have hit Harry instead."

"How fortunate for you," a low voice drawled from behind them, "that I have no such reservations."

They turned. Lucius Malfoy smiled smugly at them, holding his wand aloft in one hand and his cane in the other.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Author's Note:<em>** My poor, maligned Justin. Fun author fact: I place several homages to various friends and characters from other media in my stories, and this one is no exception. Justin (looks, characteristics, personality, and a slight background history) is based on my favorite character from another series (since I'm not getting paid for any of this because it's fanfiction, I thought "why not?"). Kudos to whomever guesses correctly.

Also, if you couldn't tell, this story is reaching the climax and will be wrapping up shortly. Thanks for all the hits, reviews (especially reviews), favorites and alerts!


	12. Showdown!

_Chapter 12: Showdown!_

"You'll have to forgive Mr. Potter," Lucius continued in his smooth voice, "for his reckless Gryffindor nature has a tendency to present itself at the most inopportune of moments."

"Better than your slimy Slytherin one," Hermione retorted angrily. She shoved her wand in his face. "What are you doing here?"

"Saving you?" At their looks of disbelief, he huffed. "What? I followed you to the warehouse after your Muggle friends left me at your hotel. I'd say that makes me something of a hero."

"You would say that," said Ron.

Lucius shrugged, sheathing his wand back into his cane. "Then if you insist on treating me in this manner, I shall take my leave and be on my way," he said, moving past them. Harry noticed his eyes flicker toward the open area. Malfoy spotted the horn. He darted out, intent on snatching it.

"Malfoy, no!" Harry shouted.

Lucius ignored Harry. Talmon, having heard Harry's cry, fired a curse at Lucius as he ran. Justin flicked his wrist back. His wand popped out of his sleeve. He grabbed the wand and pointed it at Lucius.

"_Stupefy_!"

"_Protego_!"

The blue shield that had protected Harry two days ago now popped up in front of Lucius Malfoy. Lucius bent down to grab the horn.

Harry felt like he was watching the video back in the FBI headquarters. Lucius flew backwards before slamming into a stack of crates. Justin darted over to him and pulled him to safety. Lucius groaned as he clutched his head. A thin trickle of blood ran down his temple. Hermione waved her wand at him and muttered a healing charm under her breath.

"Are all of you British people this impulsive? And stupid?" Justin asked, not bothering to hide his anger. Lucius glared at him. "The horn is charmed. A wizard cannot touch it unless it is given to him by a Muggle of his own free will. Right now, Harry's the only one that can safely touch it."

Lucius cast a longing look back at the horn. "It figures," he muttered, sounding more defeated than Harry had ever seen him.

"Why are you so intent on getting the horn?" Hermione asked. "You never said."

"Absolutely correct," came the sarcastic reply. "I didn't."

Justin peered intently at Lucius Malfoy. "How did you get here anyway?"

The sneer returned. "And you called _me_ daft. I told you I followed-"

"I meant America."

Lucius closed his mouth with a snap. He glared at Justin but refused to answer.

Harry was confused. He wasn't the only one. "What do you mean?" Ron asked.

Justin frowned. "The Portkey Transit Authority reported no other visitor from England. I would have known if your friend arrived."

"He's _not_ our friend," Ron began hotly, even as Harry and Hermione looked at Lucius again. He frowned back at them.

"I did not arrive by means of a portkey," he said stiffly.

"Then how?" Hermione asked. "Apparition is only for short distances. A portkey is the only way to safely cross the ocean."

"I flew."

"On what?"

Lucius flushed dark. He looked like he wanted to curse the lot of them. Then he deflated and cast one last regretful look in the direction of the horn. "On a plane," he muttered through gritted teeth.

Silence.

"A _Muggle_ plane?" Harry asked.

Lucius curled his lip in displeasure. "Yes, Mr. Potter, a Muggle airplane. Go ahead. Laugh."

But laughter was the furthest thing from Harry's mind. Or anyone else's, in fact. Even Justin looked baffled. Hermione furrowed her brow in confusion. "But why?"

Lucius started in surprise. "Isn't it obvious?"

"No."

Lucius sneered at them, inviting their mocking jests. "The Ministry deems it... _amusing_... to ban certain means of travel from me. I daresay they get some sort of pleasure from watching Lucius Malfoy beg for Muggle transportation."

Harry felt as if someone had Stupefied him. The others looked equally dumbstruck. "But... Minister Shacklebolt wouldn't do such a thing," Hermione said.

Lucius allowed a small chuckle of dark laughter to escape. "I highly doubt our honorable Minister knows of this."

"So that's it then," Harry murmured, the pieces suddenly clicking. "That's why you want the horn."

Lucius shot him a sharp look. Harry thought back to the past few years. He recalled reading little of the Malfoy family in the _Daily Prophet._ In fact, he hadn't seen any of them in the Ministry at all. Surely even Lucius Malfoy would be able to secure some kind of lucrative position once more. Now that he thought on it, Lucius' motives were crystal clear.

"You hope to restore your family's name to its former glory," he declared. Lucius sniffed, but didn't discount Harry's accusation. "That's it, isn't it?"

"Indeed," Lucius admitted so softly Harry wondered if he had heard it at all. "I had read about the theft, but didn't realize that the Aurors had been assigned to the case until it was too late. I had hoped by retrieving the horn, I could present it to the Ministry and return into their good graces once again."

Hermione cast him a swift look. "And I'm sure it didn't cross your mind at all to use the horn to er, bolster your finances before turning it over?"

Lucius smirked, confirming Hermione's suspicions.

Justin rolled his eyes. "Time to focus on the present. We need to get that horn."

"We?" Lucius asked. The four turned to look at him again. "It's your mission," he said.

"You're not staying to help?" asked Ron incredulously. "You're leaving?"

At this, Lucius smiled widely, as if Ron had set him up to ask the perfect question. He looked at Hermione. She returned his look of confusion. Abruptly her face cleared and she laughed.

"I get it," she said. She heaved a sigh and grimaced like she had bitten into a rotten fish flavored Bertie Bott's Bean. "Lucius Malfoy, will you help us retrieve the Horn of Amalthea?"

He drew himself to his full height and leveled her a haughty, triumphant stare. "Miss Granger, I would be _delighted_ to offer my assistance." Hermione frowned at him but didn't comment.

Ron nudged Harry with his elbow. "What was that about?"

Harry shook his head. He didn't know, either. Fortunately, Lucius heard Ron.

"I rather took some enjoyment from the fact that someone like you had to ask for help from someone like me." Ron still stared at him in confusion. Lucius huffed and rolled his eyes. "Don't fret your simple mind over it. You've my assistance now. I suggest you use it wisely."

Justin looked around the room. "Talmon is most likely waiting for us to make our move. He'll keep his eye on the horn and wait for Harry to come grab it. He knows that Harry is the only person that can touch it. Or at least suspects it."

"How about using Potter as bait?" Lucius suggested innocently. Harry, Ron, and Hermione all glared at him.

Justin nodded. "Close to what I was thinking, only in reverse. We'll be the bait and lure Talmon out while Harry retrieves the horn."

"You've got to be mad!" Lucius exclaimed.

"Shh!" Justin admonished. "We'll lure Talmon into a trap. How are you three at charmwork?"

"Exemplary," Lucius sniffed.

Hermione twirled her wand. "Same."

Ron sighed. "Woefully inadequate," he mumbled, "at least compared to Hermione."

Justin nodded. "How about defensive techniques?" he addressed Ron.

"I'm fairly decent at that," Ron said.

"Good." Justin smiled. "Then lean close, I've got a plan."

Moments later, Harry slipped around the side of one of the crates. He could see the horn glinting in the distance through a crack in the structure. He looked around as he waited, wondering where Talmon was hiding. Was he remaining in one strategic position or was he circling around trying to catch them off guard? Harry didn't know.

Out in one corner, Harry could see Ron sneaking past a stack of crates. Harry held his wand ready, just in case.

Ron tripped. Harry saw him stumble through the cracks. He reached out to steady himself on the crates. The crates wobbled before crashing down with a loud clatter, leaving Ron completely exposed. He froze in shock; then took off running away.

Short, clipped footsteps followed. Harry grinned. So far, everything was going according to plan. He counted to five, then slipped out from his hiding spot and ran for the horn. He kept low to the ground, just like he was on a broomstick in a Quidditch match. Reaching the edge of the crates, he ducked to one side and held his breath.

Silence.

He reached out with one arm and grasped the horn. Quick as lightning, he darted away.

His foot caught the edge of a piece of crate leftover from Lucius' curse. It knocked into the metal shelves. The clanging echoed loudly through the warehouse.

Harry winced, but couldn't help it. He tucked the horn under his cloak and ran for cover. A red jet of light streaked over his head. Without looking, he pointed his wand behind him.

"_Stupefy_!" he shouted. The ensuing chaos bought him enough time to duck to safety.

He pressed his back against the crates, panting lightly. He heard footsteps off to his right and hurried down the left path. This put a damper on Justin's plans. After all, Harry was supposed to retrieve the horn. _Ron_ was supposed to lure Talmon into the trap. But thanks to Harry's clumsiness, Talmon had sighted him as a target.

Harry rounded a corner and then paused. He didn't hear any footsteps following him. Time to change that. He pointed his wand at a small open crate.

"_Wingardium leviosa_," he said. The crate hovered off the ground for a moment. With a short flick of his wand, Harry sent the crate smashing into the wall.

Without waiting to see if Talmon continued the pursuit, Harry took off running again. He darted in and out of the crates, occasionally firing random spells. He turned another corner and collided with Justin Moretti. Both crashed to the ground.

"Ow," Justin moaned, clutching his forehead.

"Erm, sorry about that," Harry apologized hastily. He stood and brushed himself off, then offered his hand to Justin.

The American looked at him, raised his wand and shouted, "_Flipendo_!"

A green jet of light shot past Harry. He turned to see Talmon thrown against some crates.

"Thanks!" Harry said, feeling a surge of gratitude toward the wizard.

Justin shrugged as he pushed himself off the ground. "No problem. Looks like you're taking over Ron's spot now."

Harry looked back as Talmon struggled out of the crates. "Guess so. Where do you need me to be?"

Justin thought for a moment, probably mapping the layout in his mind. "Loop around the back, then bring him to the center from the left side when we give the signal."

"Got it."

"Don't trip again," Justin joked. Then, he took off down one aisle.

Harry made a show of slowly pretending to recover as Talmon regained his senses. Harry staggered, smashed into a stack of crates, and then with a quick discrete look at Talmon, resumed running down the rows.

The slow but steadily increasing pace behind him indicated Talmon had accepted the bait. He led Talmon through the warehouse, occasionally stopping to cast a charm or toss a minor jinx over his shoulder. It was a game of cat-and-mouse which Harry mastered beautifully. He would slow enough to nearly feel Tamon's breath on his neck, then put on a burst of speed and vanish from sight for a moment.

A stream of red and gold high above his head showered sparks all across the warehouse. Harry grinned. Red and gold. There couldn't have been a more obvious sign.

Slowly, Harry began to lead Talmon to the left. Ron intercepted him before too long.

"Harry, how are you holding up?" he asked, falling into stride.

"Wonderful," Harry gasped. "Are you ready?"

"I wouldn't be here if we weren't. I'm to guide you through their traps."

"I think I can handle them," Harry said, stopping behind a crate to catch his breath.

Ron leaned opposite him and fixed him with a look. "I dunno, Harry, you might know Hermione's style of traps, but Malfoy and Justin have you beat. They're wicked clever. But don't tell Malfoy I said that. My dad would kill me."

Harry was curious as to what Lucius had planned, but before he could ask, Ron tugged at his sleeve and led him down another row of crates. After Ron paused a moment, Harry made to continue moving forward but Ron grabbed his arm.

"Hold up, mate," he said. He pointed his wand and called, "_Accio _rope."

_Rope?_ Harry thought, but didn't have to ponder very long. A thin piece of rope sailed toward them. Ron grabbed it mid-air and tugged on it experimentally.

"Whatever you do, don't touch the ground," Ron told him seriously.

And with that, he jumped.

The rope stretched taut and Ron glided away, leaving Harry alone.

_Now what am I supposed to do?_ he thought. He didn't see another rope anywhere. And worse, he couldn't hear Talmon anymore, which meant the wizard was probably close.

With nothing really to lose, Harry lifted his wand as well and shouted, "_Accio_ rope!"

Sure enough, after an excruciating moment, the rope returned. Harry tucked his wand in his pocket, tested the rope, and jumped.

To Harry, flying on a broomstick ranked as one of the most liberating feelings he ever had.

This was a close second.

He soared on the rope through the crates. He had thought that the rope swung like a pendulum: to and fro.

Then he remembered he was dealing with wizards.

The rope swung at breakneck speed through the maze-like rows. He whipped around a corner. Harry involuntarily cringed, anticipating a painful thwack of his feet against the solid crates.

His feet passed through the crates as if they weren't even there.

_Actually,_ Harry amended, getting a good look as he careened around another bend, _the boxes moved out of the way on their own._

Onward he twisted and soared through the warehouse. Just when his arms began to tire and his stomach started to turn uneasily, he spotted Ron, Justin, and Hermione ahead.

Justin raised his wand as he approached and the rope slowed its course, gently depositing Harry at their feet. He stumbled a moment before regaining his footing.

"That was amazing!" he declared. "Whose idea was it?"

"Mine," Justin said, glowing with pride. "Mr. Malfoy set the traps on the floor. From what little I saw, they're good. Talmon doesn't stand a chance."

Not a moment after this proud declaration, a silver streak of light shot past them, barely missing Hermione's head.

Talmon whizzed past, shouting another curse as the four scattered. Talmon released the rope and landed lightly on his feet. He turned and pointed his wand at the four.

"Nice try," he commended. "Next time, don't shout out the key to escaping quite so loudly."

Trapped between Talmon and a sea of unknown curses, the four wizards raised their wands in unison.

"_Stupefy_!" Talmon shouted. His spell hit Ron square in the chest. He vaulted backwards, and only a desperately cast charm from Hermione saved him from tumbling into Lucius' hex-field.

Speaking of which, Harry frowned. Where exactly _was_ Lucius?

"Another move and the next curse won't be so forgiving," Talmon warned.

Harry and Justin froze.

"I must commend you on your efforts," Talmon continued. "However futile they proved to be. Mr. Potter, I believe? Give me the horn now."

Shrugging, Harry reached into his jacket and withdrew the gleaming horn. He had a sudden idea. He tossed it to Talmon – a high-arcing throw that soared just over Talmon's head and out of reach. Talmon didn't even follow the path as it clattered to the ground behind him.

He glowered at Harry. "Nice try. You thought I would be distracted and reach up, where you could then seize the advantage."

Harry deflated. He had hoped exactly that. Talmon offered him a thin smile as he backed up slowly to the horn. His eyes (and wand) never wavering from the four.

When he was only two steps away from the horn, a loud snap sounded and a golden net descended. Talmon sputtered in surprise as the net landed upon him. He attempted to fire a curse at them, but the spell fizzled once it hit the golden threads.

Lucius Malfoy appeared from behind the net, holding his wand aloft and staring at them with that infuriatingly smug expression.

"Look at what I caught," he gloated.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, good job on doing exactly what you were told to do."

"Now, now, Miss Granger, if I had done _exactly_ what I was told to do, I might have ended up in the same position you were in. Either _someone _miscalculated_,_" and here he glanced at Hermione, "or _someone _dallied_,_" now his gaze flickered to Harry. "Either way, it was a good thing I remained hidden in the back, else Talmon might have escaped."

"The net wasn't spell-activated. It would have triggered anyway when he back up," Hermione protested.

"It was my idea."

"It was Justin's idea!"

"Well, I created the net."

"And I enchanted it."

Sensing this could go on for hours, Justin stepped in.

"We all worked together. Everyone was invaluable. Now we can charge this wizard with the murder of a Muggle," he said diplomatically.

Lucius sniffed. Harry didn't know if he disagreed with Justin's claims to the capture or to the charge of Muggle-killing.

_Probably both_, Harry thought.

Justin raised his wand and a jet of blinding white light erupted, speeding down the rows before disappearing into the darkness. Moments later, two wizards appeared with a loud pop.

"What's going on here?" one asked. "We got your emergency spell." They looked at Talmon tangled in the net and their eyes widened. "Wade Talmon! Justin, what is the meaning of this?"

"Wade Talmon killed a Muggle four nights ago. He also hired said Muggle to steal the Horn of Amalthea, a dangerous wizard artifact," Justin began, his voice taking on an authoritative tone. "Furthermore, this evening he assaulted an Auror and kidnapped him. Finally, he attempted to kill the five of us. Take him away to be charged and duly processed."

The two wizards gaped at him. "Justin, this can't be. Mr. Talmon is a respected wizard in the community. He even said that you had been working with Muggles!"

Harry's eyebrows rose with this revelation. _So Talmon was the one causing a fuss at the American Ministry._

Justin drew himself to his full height and glowered darkly at the two wizards.

"Carter and Lannett, I am an Auror and as such outrank you both! I have given you a direct order and I expect it to be carried out immediately! Any more insubordination and I will be forced to report you to your superiors!"

The two wizards in question blanched.

"S-sorry, Justin," Carter stammered. "We'll take him away right now!"

As they approached Talmon, Lucius lifted his arm and muttered a spell under his breath. The net vanished. At the same time, Hermione pointed hers at Talmon and shouted "_Petrificus totalus_" with significantly more venom in her tone than usual.

Talmon's limbs snapped to his sides and his wand dropped from his stiff fingers.

"Blimey," Ron breathed, and even Lucius cast her a sidelong look of appraisal.

"Hmph," she sniffed. "Maybe he'll think twice the next time he decides to hex my husband."

Ron gulped. Carter and Lannett hesitantly stepped forward. Carter grabbed Talmon's arm and they both vanished with a loud crack.

Lucius twirled his wand with a flourish and snapped it back into his cane. Harry walked up to the horn and lifted it, aware of both Lucius' and Justin's eyes upon him.

"We need to destroy this," he said.

Justin sighed. "I understand. I just... it's so pretty."

"The sooner we finish this, the better," Hermione said.

"Fine," Justin agreed. "I'll show you the way back." He started to lead them out of the corridors when he stopped abruptly and turned. "Wait." He pointed to Lucius. "Remove the traps, first."

In one smooth motion, Lucius drew his wand, muttered a few chants under his breath and then sheathed his wand once more. "Done," he intoned, his face schooled into the blandest possible expression.

Justin peered at him suspiciously, then lifted his wand and mumbled something under his breath. He nodded. "Good," he said. "Let's go."

Back at the table, Ron handed him the goblin dagger. Harry set the horn on the wooden surface. He took a deep breath and plunged the dagger into the middle of the horn.

It sliced through the moonstone easily, like a hot knife through butter. The tip of the dagger touched the table, and Harry slashed down, severing the horn in two. The moonstone melted where it had contact with the dagger, producing white boils that marred the beautiful exterior. Surrounding jewels crumpled as if melting under an intense heat.

Brilliantly colored runes ascended into the air, sparkling and floating around the horn. Their multi-hued light shone vibrant and bright. They swirled around the horn for another moment before fading into oblivion.

The Horn of Amalthea was no more.

Harry sighed. He had destroyed a few artifacts previously, and each reacted differently. This was one of the milder displays. _Probably because there was little, if any, dark magic imbued into the vessel_, he reasoned.

"Did it work?" Ron asked, a bit breathless.

Harry had an idea. "Hey, Mr. Malfoy," he said. Lucius regarded him with a carefully guarded look. "If you can touch the horn, it's yours. No arguments from me."

Lucius frowned. "I thought a wizard could not touch it unless handed to them by a Muggle." His lip curled on the last word.

Harry shrugged. "Yes, but the spells should be broken. If you can touch it, that means that we have successfully destroyed it."

Lucius chuckled mirthlessly. "And if not, then I find myself hurtling through the air with only a few splintery crates to slow my fall, hmm?"

Harry shrugged. "Win-win for me either way."

"I'm game," Ron said, earning him a swat from Hermione with a scandalized admonishment.

Lucius narrowed his eyes and stepped over to Harry, thrusting out his hand. "Give it to me, then."

Harry dropped the horn.

Lucius caught it easily.

His fingers curled around the tip. He raised it to his eyes before letting it fall from his hand with a sneer.

"Useless Muggle trinket," he scoffed before turning on his heel and sweeping away dramatically.

He stopped by the crates, turned back to them, and leaned against the wood with his arms folded across his chest. Harry could swear he was sulking, though he knew the proud wizard would never admit such a thing. _A Malfoy doesn't pout,_ he imagined Lucius retorting.

Justin sighed. "Well, it's been an eventful evening for me. I really should go back to headquarters and make sure that Talmon is processed properly. Wouldn't want him to escape based on his influence over the jailers."

"Sounds like someone else we know," Ron muttered under his breath with a pointed look at Lucius.

"I guess that means you're leaving soon?" Justin asked.

Harry nodded. "We're finished here. We'll probably go home in the next day or two."

"Okay. I'll be in touch tomorrow." Justin turned on the spot and Disapparated with a loud pop.

"Guess we better get some sleep, then," Harry suggested. He scooped up the pieces of the horn and stowed them in his pouch. "Do you have somewhere to stay?" he called to Lucius.

"Of course."

"Well, then I guess we'll be seeing you around," Harry said by way of goodbye.

"Undoubtedly."

The four remaining wizards turned as one and Disapparated.

* * *

><p>"Are you sure you want to do this?" Diana asked Peter as they stood outside of Atherton's mansion.<p>

"Oh, yeah," Peter grinned. He jabbed the doorbell with unrestrained glee. Diana shook her head in amusement. She learned fast to stay out of Peter's way when he set his mind on something. Atherton's visit to FBI headquarters only served to tweak Peter's nose. And Diana knew he took affront to it. She wisely remained in his shadow.

Neal hung back a ways with Jones. Peter debated leaving him in the van, then reconsidered when he remembered how Neal's presence irked Atherton. Peter was pulling no punches this round. He smiled maliciously. No one bests Peter Burke without eventually regretting it. Neal was living proof of that fact.

The door opened and Atherton glared at them in annoyance. "What do you want?" he said.

"Mr. Atherton, we have a few questions for you," Peter began, holding up his badge. Diana followed suit.

Atherton lounged against the door frame and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I don't think I have anything to say to you."

"We need to get a statement from you concerning the other night," Diana said.

Atherton fixed her with an appraising look. "And why would I be so inclined to cooperate with the woefully incompetent FBI?"

Peter held up a thin pamphlet. "Because this warrant says you must."

Atherton straightened warily. "Warrant? For what?"

"Searching your home."

Atherton snatched the warrant from his hand and scanned through it. He thrust it back to Peter, his eyes burning with hatred. "I'll be calling my lawyer."

"You do that. In the meantime, excuse us, please. Us 'woefully incompetent FBI' must now bumble around for a while."

And with that, Peter stepped around Atherton. Diana followed. Jones spoke on a radio and several more FBI agents surrounded the home. Neal lounged outside, not too eager to re-enter.

Atherton vanished once Peter stepped inside. "Okay," he said to Diana in a low voice. "Neal said he was upstairs in the bedroom. I think that's the first place to start. Atherton might start to panic and destroy the evidence."

"Lead on, boss," Diana said. Peter nodded and headed to the stairs.

In the bedroom, Peter headed to check under the bed while Diana took the closet.

After a moment, Peter reemerged, holding a shoe in his hands. "Jackpot," he said, showing his prize to Diana.

"You're not the only one to win big," she replied. She pulled out a suit and flashed it to Peter, then pointed to a small blood stain on the cuff.

Peter's grin couldn't get any bigger. "Let's just look around and see what other nails we can find for Mr. Atherton's coffin. Then we'll break the bad news to him."

After ten more minutes of scanning the bedroom and nearby study, Peter called it off.

"We have plenty. Let the CSIs finish up here. I'm ready to confront Atherton."

Diana eagerly abandoned her search and followed Peter down the stairs. Peter spoke in a low voice in his walkie-talkie, coordinating with the men outside.

"Mr. Atherton," Peter began once they reached the expansive parlor. Atherton sat on a plush armchair swirling a glass of brandy in a tumbler. He regarded them coldly. "I'm placing you under arrest for the murder of Darius Hainer."

Peter reached behind him to pull out his handcuffs.

"You have the right to -"

"Peter, look out!"

While Peter was distracted, Atherton had withdrawn a pistol hiding in his chair and pointed it at Peter.

Peter ducked as Atherton fired. The bullet embedded itself into the wall behind him.

Drawing her weapon, Diana trained it on Atherton, but he swept his arm around to her.

She fired.

Atherton fell backward with a grunt, his weapon not discharging a second time. Peter ran over to Atherton and kicked the gun out of his hands. Atherton moaned in pain as Peter cuffed him, snapping them tightly on his wrists.

"Nice work," he praised Diana, who had finally lowered her gun and holstered it.

"Thank you. Not such bad reflexes yourself," she replied.

Just then, Jones and Neal came running in.

"Peter!" Neal exclaimed. "Are you okay?"

Peter waved his hand. "Fine. Atherton decided to fight back a little. Well, this just gives me yet another charge to tack onto his growing list. Diana is a fine shot."

"And don't you forget it," she grinned.

Neal sagged a bit. "We heard the shot."

Jones, who had been examining Atherton, stood up indignantly. "Yeah, and I thought I told you to stay outside."

Neal threw him a look as if to say _you have got to be kidding_. Peter chuckled. "Let's get CSI in here to gather more evidence. Jones, do you mind calling an ambulance for Atherton? I'm feeling reluctant to provide him with some aide, and I'm sure my call would be mis-dialed."

"Sure thing," Jones replied, stepping off to one corner to place the call.

Neal strolled over and looked around the room. "Say," he remarked offhandedly. "Where is this infamous Horn of Amalthea? I heard you retrieved it, Atherton."

Atherton glared at him in reply. Peter's phone rang and he spoke into it briefly.

"Good news," he said loudly, addressing everyone in the vicinity. "That was Harry and his team. They recovered the true Horn of Amalthea for their client." Peter looked to Atherton. "I guess you didn't really have it at all."

The look on Atherton's face was priceless.

Soon, the ambulance arrived and carted Atherton off. Peter sent a few of his men to escort the ambulance and ensure Atherton remained in custody. The four of them gathered outside while members of the FBI's crime scene unit arrived and took over the house.

Neal stifled a yawn. "I'm tired. With Harry's team recovering the horn, I guess their trip here is over. And since we caught our murderer, I suppose our job is done as well."

"Not exactly," Diana said.

"What? Why not?"

"We still don't know who killed Eric Vinson."

"Yes, we do," Peter said. "Harry told me that Wade Talmon confessed. He said the man confessed to it when they apprehended him with the horn. Unfortunately, Talmon ran into oncoming traffic, trying to escape, and was killed."

Neal's eyebrows shot up. "How... convenient."

Peter shrugged. "Harry said that NYPD were all over the scene. We'll check it out in the morning. Right now, I want to go tell Elle the good news."

"Can't argue with you there. I have a cozy bed with my name on it," Neal replied.

"Oh?" Diana teased. "Neal Caffrey enamored by satin sheets?"

"What can I say? I've grown a particular fondness for soft beds."

* * *

><p><strong><em>Author's Note:<em>** Yes, I know this chapter is mainly Harry Potter and not much White Collar. Honestly, I was debating making this chapter only Harry Potter and tossing the White Collar stuff into the next chapter, but I refrained. Epic battles aren't my strong suit, and this one particularly exhausting even though I don't think there was much "epic battleness" at all in it. I was planning on having the FBI going around and having their respective epic battle, but honestly... White Collar just doesn't have many epic battles. They go in, arrest their man, and leave. Their epic-ness comes from finding the proof to convict the bad guy (through cons and other such stuff).

This chapter is where I originally had planned that the FBI would discover the wizarding world. Then Lucius popped up and I got the idea of separating the teams to collar their respective baddies... and the FBI Muggles ended up remaining unaware. I'm sorry if anyone was hoping these guys would discover the big secret. I couldn't think of a decent reason to break the Statue of Secrecy AND have them keep their memories... and I hate stories that avoid the repercussions of having Muggles discover the wizarding world by using Obliviate or some other memory modifying charm. It's such a cop out.

Astute readers will find a minor discrepancy between what I wrote in _Business Trip_ and what I have stated in this chapter.

There is a conclusion chapter plus a short (about 1500 words) epilogue and then this story is over, so I thank you many times over for sticking with this story and I sincerely hope everyone has enjoyed what I have written (because I sure as heck had loads of fun writing this!)


	13. Ouroboros

_Chapter 13: Ouroboros_

Harry awoke the next morning bleary-eyed and groggy. He had spent a good portion of the night coordinating with the American Ministry on how to manipulate the memories of some Muggle civilians and local law enforcement. They couldn't very well have the FBI poking around trying to investigate Talmon's whereabouts. Muggle judicial systems didn't apply to a wizard.

Harry heard through Justin that Talmon had struck a deal with the Ministry. In return to fully cooperating with the investigation, the American Ministry agreed to take care of his wife.

On one hand, Harry nearly felt sorry for Talmon. The wizard finally confessed that he wanted the horn to help her. She had been one of the top curse-breakers in the Aurors before a foolish accident a decade prior. She nearly developed a successful counter-curse for a particularly nasty candelabra and had yet to complete one final translation before testing. She brought the candelabra home to study one evening, despite warnings from her co-workers, when Talmon sneaked up behind her intending to surprise her with an early birthday gift. Her hand holding her counter-jinx slipped and connected with the candelabra. The incomplete counter-curse hadn't been powerful enough to prevent the curse from activating. She had her memories wiped clear.

Talmon had been devastated, holding himself solely to blame for his wife's accident. He refused to accept the shell of his former wife and had dived headfirst into dark magic, desperate to discover a cure.

He then stumbled upon the Horn of Amalthea.

For the first time, hope appeared. However, Talmon discovered the artifact's existence only after it had been stolen. He relentlessly searched the globe over and finally located it in Atherton's private home.

Then he spread the word and Eric Vinson contacted him, looking for a job.

From there, things went smoothly until the little hiccup in the alley. Talmon confessed he acted primarily out of self-defense, for Vinson had threatened him and he believed Vinson would have killed him with a Muggle weapon. However, he also confessed to attacking Harry outside of the Owl Post and to Peter in his home. Harry knew Muggle attacks were taken very seriously and, if anything, his punishment for attacking Peter and harming Elizabeth would be worse than the one for killing Eric Vinson in self-defense.

He groaned and rolled over in bed, dragging himself reluctantly out of from under the heavy sheets. Peter had requested they (including Malfoy) meet him at the FBI building in the morning. The agent stated he knew they would probably be leaving but wanted to coordinate some last-minute details on their respective cases.

Since Harry didn't know exactly which room Lucius Malfoy was staying in after his release (and why would Peter think he knew in the first place?) Harry stopped by the Owl Post late last night and penned a letter. He grinned, certain the wizard would have gotten it in the wee hours of the morning and interrupted his sleep. He told Lucius to meet them in the lobby at exactly 7:30.

Dressing quickly, Harry packed his things and stuffed them into his enchanted bag. He then deftly tucked the tiny drawstring bag into his pocket. After meeting up with Ron and Hermione, they rode the lift to the lobby.

Lucius Malfoy stood stiffly by one of the armchairs, holding his cane in one hand. Harry suppressed a grin when he saw the black bags underneath the eyes of the normally impeccable elder Malfoy.

"Good morning, Mr. Malfoy," Harry greeted with as much innocence as he could muster. "Did you have a good rest?"

The glare Lucius shot him would have vaporized him on the spot if Lucius knew exactly how to curse with only his eyes.

"Delightful," Lucius replied through gritted teeth, his eyes still boring menacingly into Harry.

Harry decided he rather enjoyed provoking Lucius Malfoy. "I was a bit worried you wouldn't get my letter in time. Peter didn't give me much time to contact you and I wasn't sure exactly where you were staying, so you do understand the haste. I do hope it didn't wake you too early," he added with false sincerity.

Lucius frowned. "Mr. Potter, if you value the pleasantness of your life right now, I would suggest you cease pursuing this line of conversation."

Harry flashed a cheeky grin but refrained from any more snarky remarks.

"Shall we be off then?" Ron said. "The sooner we meet with Peter, the sooner we can go home."

Lucius huffed a bit derisively and mumbled something under his breath but otherwise remained silent. Seeing as he wasn't going to walk with them, Harry decided to lead the way. Lucius remained a defiant five meters behind them at all times.

Inside the FBI headquarters, the guard let them take the lift to Peter's floor. When Hermione inquired about the lack of an escort, the guard merely said that Peter cleared them through.

Upstairs, they found themselves waiting outside the lifts as many agents filed in and around them. They didn't spot anyone they knew. Even Lucius abandoned his previous haughty attitude and stood within talking distance to the three. "I didn't get a chance to congratulate everyone last night," Harry said abruptly, breaking the silence while they awaited Peter. "You all did spectacularly." His gaze included Lucius Malfoy, who sniffed like he didn't need to accept praise from him but Harry could tell he was pleased at the compliment.

Hermione offered him a scheming grin. "It's not often I get to use my skills to set elaborate traps. It was fun."

"Swinging on that rope was amazing," Ron reminisced with a blissful sigh. "We should do that more often."

"Ron! That would be a violation of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts statutes," Hermione protested.

Ron exchanged a look with Harry, who silently agreed with Ron. _Maybe we can figure out something later,_ he thought.

Sensing it was time to change the subject, Harry cleared his throat. "I guess it went a bit dodgy for a few moments there but I think we improvised nicely. Brilliant signal, by the way," he added to Hermione.

At this, Lucius let out a low chuckle. "I wanted to cast the Dark Mark in the air for your signal but Miss Granger believed it would have frightened Talmon away."

Harry had to suppress another smile at the thought of Hermione telling off Lucius for his (admittedly clever) idea. _He_ would have known that it was the signal, but he didn't dare reveal that to either Hermione or Lucius. He entertained himself a moment longer with the image of the witch berating the apathetic Malfoy in the dusty warehouse.

"Good morning," Peter announced from behind them. "I trust you had a pleasant night?"

Harry coughed into his fist to cover a spontaneous bout of laughter, to which Lucius sent another death glare in his direction. Peter caught the exchange.

"Guess not," he said. "Well, I'm sure you'll have plenty of time to sleep on your plane ride back to England."

Instead of diffusing the situation, Peter's innocuous remark only served to send Ron into a fit of giggles and caused Lucius to turn an interesting shade of purple. Harry secretly admired Peter's unintentional ability to ruffle the normally stoic Malfoy's feathers. He took some mental notes to use at a later date.

Neal strolled up behind Peter. "Talking out here? I would have thought we would adjourn to the conference room." He looked to everyone with a charming smile. "Good morning, I heard you had your share of successes. I'd wager all that excitement resulted in a deep restful sleep."

Lucius gripped his cane tightly and only a quick thinking intervention by Harry saved Neal from a rather unsavory fate. Stepping in between Lucius and Neal, Harry smoothly addressed the consultant.

"We are certainly glad it's over. Do you have any tea?"

Peter took the cue and led them to the room. Lucius glared darkly at Neal with a muttered, "Why does everyone in this backward society inquire as to my sleeping habits?" which Ron naturally overheard and laughed, further irritating the wizard.

In the conference room, after all got cups filled with tea or coffee, Peter addressed Lucius first. "Atherton maintains his innocence on the Darius murder, but our CSIs found enough evidence in his house to convict him. You're officially off the hook and are free to leave the country."

Harry only followed part of that, and suspected Lucius understood even less, but nonetheless the blonde wizard nodded regally with a cold, "Thank you."

"Secondly," Peter continued, "it was good working with you all, as unconventional as you are."

"Peter knows firsthand about working with unconventional people," Neal put in with a smile.

"Unfortunately, he speaks the truth. Still, I-" Neal interrupted with a loud cough, "-and my esteemed colleagues at the FBI," Peter added with a glare at Neal, "appreciate your assistance on this case."

Harry smiled. "It was our pleasure. Thank you for all of your assistance with our recovery assignment. Our client will be most appreciative."

Peter shook his head ruefully. "Don't say that part too loudly. As far as the FBI is concerned, that case was closed the moment Atherton laid claim back on the horn."

"When are you leaving?" Neal asked.

"As soon as possible," answered Harry. "We have our flights booked for this evening."

"Ah," Neal said. "Well, if you're ever in New York again, it was a real pleasure."

"Thanks. Er, call on us anytime you're in England," Harry offered back lamely.

With that, they stood, exchanged farewell handshakes, and the four wizards departed from the FBI office.

* * *

><p>Outside, Lucius resumed his purposeful stride of making absolutely certain to remain at least ten paces behind the trio at all times. Ron found it highly amusing to attempt to trip him up, circling around light poles and abruptly stopping at random stands before Hermione tugged on his arm to keep him in line. Harry chuckled with Ron.<p>

"Maybe if we keep this up, he'll fall so far behind we can lose him in a few blocks," Harry suggested in a whisper to Ron.

"I do know how to track three wizards in a city of Muggles," Lucius' icy voice sounded from behind them. Both boys jumped guiltily and turned to find Lucius glowering at them.

"I thought you were avoiding us," Harry said.

"Then it is a very good thing the wizarding world's fate never depended on your intelligence, Mr. Potter," Lucius replied scathingly.

"We're here," Hermione announced, interrupting them. All three immediately sobered as Hermione stopped in front of a stand selling hot dogs, roasted chestnuts, and black t-shirts with _I Love NYC_ emblazoned in white with a red heart. Some displayed the NYC skyline. Tattered pamphlets of the subway map plastered every available counter space, much of the information outdated and stained by years of ketchup, mustard, and sauerkraut drippings. All around, people moved about, paying little attention to the doings of one tiny tourist-oriented cart among thousands. The cart backed up against the graffiti-riddled wall of a tall skyscraper. Hot dog smells wafted from a tiny hut in the back, obviously used to cook the hot dogs before transporting them to the cart for sale.

"We'd like four of New York's classic slaw dogs," Hermione told the vendor, a tiny withered husk of a man.

Harry and Ron exchanged looks. Lucius stared at Hermione as if she had grown a second head: a mixture of horrified revulsion and outright bewilderment.

The old man regarded her thoughtfully, his sharp eyes flitting back and forth between Lucius' arrogant disdain and Ron's puzzled curiosity. Then he sighed. "Through there," he said jerking his thumb behind him.

"Thank you," Hermione said, stepping around the cart and marching to the hut. When she reached it, she turned impatiently to the others. "Well?" she demanded in a bossy voice, "Are you coming or not?"

"Does she do this often?" Lucius asked softly.

"You have no idea," Harry moaned. "Might as well follow."

As Harry stepped through the doorway, his vision swam. He reached out to grab onto something to stop himself from falling. His hands touched nothing and vertigo overwhelmed him entirely as his body collapsed to the floor.

Moments later, the room stopped spinning and Harry looked up to find Hermione sitting on the ground as well, the queasiness in her face surely matching his. Ron arrived next, immediately collapsing to the floor. His face was so pale every one of his freckles stood out against the stark white of his skin. Lucius stumbled in last, slamming his cane against the ground to regain his footing. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself, then took a bearing on his surroundings, mildly surprised to find the other three on the ground.

They picked themselves up with as much dignity as they could manage and headed out of the tiny room. Outside, they ran into Justin as he walked past.

"Whoa," he exclaimed, startled. He peered past them into the tiny room. "Why did you come in from that way? I know I said that all the subway stations had Floo entrances."

"This was the closest one I could find," Hermione said.

Justin chuckled. "Man, everyone here avoids that route. We think the years of hot dog fumes affected the way the Floo powder works. Makes for one nauseating ride."

"Now he tells us," Ron mumbled.

Still chuckling, Justin led them through the Ministry, pointing out various departments ("Oh, that's where my uncle works. He would rather be playing tricks on everyone though. Watch your back.") and introducing them to nearly everyone that passed ("Hey, Jim, how's it going? These are those British Aurors I told you about. They used the Wienie Wonder entrance.") Harry wished that he would leave that last bit out, especially after nearly everyone snickered at them. Not even Lucius' patented death glare could keep the giggles at bay.

"Don't be embarrassed," Justin assured them. "It's a rite of passage, of sorts. Everyone gets tricked into using that entrance within the first week they're here. Now they all think you're one of us."

Still, Harry felt his face flame each time they passed another person Justin knew (and he knew a lot of people!) A quick glance at the others showed similar faces of shame. Except Lucius. After one older chap laughed offhandedly about "even them pompous Brits laying gob-smacked on the ground," Lucius interrupted with a curt, "I never fell." The American had paused with his mouth open until Lucius told him to kindly shut it or he would hex some flies into it.

After the American left, Justin let on that Lucius was one of the few people to have actually remained standing upon entry, to which Lucius stood a bit straighter and affixed himself with one of his superior expressions. Since then, he preened around the Ministry, much to the annoyance of the others, including Justin.

After Justin dragged them around the entire Ministry (or so it seemed to Harry), he finally stopped in front of a familiar room. Harry smiled at the red cushions littering the floor and thought back to his first day landing there from England. Though anxious as he was to return home, it was with bittersweet happiness, for he rather enjoyed working with Peter, Neal and Justin. Maybe one day he could return and at least work with the American wizard. He doubted that the FBI would be involved again.

Justin cleared his throat and pointed to a dingy green bowler hat. The face of Cornelius Fudge wearing a similar hat flashed through Harry's mind and he grinned.

"That's your portkey home," he said. He turned to Lucius. "Your Ministry might have qualms about you using magical transportation, but after your assistance last night, the American Ministry has no such hesitations. Our minister approved the use for you as well. Unless," he added slyly, "you would prefer another first class plane ride home?"

Lucius glared at him for a moment. Justin smiled innocently.

"Will it take us to the Ministry?" Hermione asked.

Justin shook his head. "No, it's designed to teleport you to one of the landing sites in Diagon Alley."

"How do you know about Diagon Alley?" Harry asked.

"Uh, since I looked up where the location of this portkey led," Justin replied. He stuck his hands in his pockets. "Uh, well, I guess this is goodbye. It was really nice working with you." He glanced at Lucius. "Well, most of you."

Lucius sniffed.

"If you're ever in England," Harry began, sticking out his hand.

"Yeah yeah, look you up," Justin said with a smile, shaking Harry's hand. "I hear the Aurors might give me a promotion after this. They liked how well we worked together."

"And the destruction of such a dangerous artifact didn't play into their minds at all?" Harry teased.

Justin smirked. "That might have had a little bit to do with it. Seriously, thank you for all of your help." His look this time included Lucius. "All of you."

"We couldn't have done it without your help, either," Harry said.

Justin looked at his watch. "It's nearly time. I wonder where the Transit Authority Wizard is."

As if on cue, a dumpy little witch in shocking purple robes with frizzy gray hair darted into the room. Harry wondered if all Transit Authority workers were frazzled. It seemed to jump continents, if nothing else.

"Gather round, gather round!" she shrieked, motioning them together. Each grabbed a rim of the bowler hat. "And in three, two, one..."

The hook snapped behind his navel, his thoughts spiraled, and his body whisked away into the darkness of portkey teleportation.

They landed on hard cobblestone but thankfully this time none fell to the ground. Harry quickly looked around to gauge his surroundings. They found themselves inside a building with no one else around. Harry had no idea where he was – and he liked to think himself familiar with Diagon Alley.

"Everyone okay?" Hermione asked.

"Peachy," Ron said, a bit paler than usual. Harry suspected the back-to-back travel unnerved him.

"Where are we?" Harry asked, feeling a bit dumb.

To his surprise, it was Lucius who answered. "Diagon Alley's Arrival Station. It's an official arrival point for portkeys, Apparations, and the occasional Floo network." He gestured to several fireplaces littering the area.

"This is where we landed when we Flooed here second year," Ron said.

"I got sent to Knockturn Alley," Harry reminded him.

"Oh! Right."

Lucius looked around. "Since school term has begun, I don't think there will be many people milling about here. Still, we shouldn't dawdle. I'll take my leave and depart."

"Afraid to be seen with us?" Hermione asked.

Lucius frowned. "You should be the ones afraid to be seen with me." His gaze softened into something nearing sorrow. "Mission accomplished for you; mission failed for me." He turned.

Harry nearly forgotten that Lucius had been hoping to bring honor back to his family's name. "Thank you for all of your help," he called after him. Lucius inclined his head without turning around and left the building.

Ron breathed a sigh of relief. "Finally!"

Harry frowned after Lucius. He felt a bit of pity for the disgraced wizard. He looked to Hermione. She appeared to share his sentiments.

"Surely there isn't something we can do?" Hermione asked. "After all, he was very helpful in our mission."

"I suppose... we could maybe write that in our report to Minister Shacklebolt?" Harry said, thinking hard.

Even Ron sighed. "When the phrase 'righting the wrongs of the world' comes to mind, I don't exactly picture Lucius Malfoy to be one needing defending."

"Yeah," Harry agreed.

Ron heaved another long sigh. "But still, I think I would rather like rubbing into his smarmy face that we helped restore his name. It'll make for a brilliant bedtime story."

Harry and Hermione laughed. "Right you are," Harry agreed.

"We'll start our reports tomorrow," Hermione said briskly. "Right now I want nothing more than to go home and give Crookshanks a hug."

"Crookshanks?" Ron exclaimed. "All this time and you only miss that mangy cat?"

"He is _not_ mangy!"

Harry chuckled and bid them farewell, then Disapparated with a loud pop.

He arrived in his kitchen. The stove was on and a pot stirred itself. He smiled. Ginny was home. Lifting his wand, he intoned "_Expecto patronum_!" A bluish-white stag appeared and galloped off.

A moment later he heard a shriek. "Harry James Potter!" And a ginger-haired blur shot at him.

He laughed and swept her into a hug.

"Honey, I'm home," he joked.

"I should hex you into next week for not giving me a warning!" Ginny smiled warmly at him, showing she was merely joking. "Oh, but you can't stay here tonight," she said abruptly, pulling away as she recalled an important detail. "We weren't expecting you back yet, so the team is coming over. We're going to be spending all evening talking about strategy."

Harry stood dumbfounded. "Well, I guess I can always stay at the Leaky Cauldron," he began, even as Ginny chuckled. "What?"

"I'm kidding, you fool." Her eyes lit up as she laughed at his chagrin. "You should have seen your face."

Harry grinned. She certainly inherited part of her brothers' prankster ways.

"So, how was America? Did you have fun?" Ginny asked, walking over to the stove to check on her concoction.

Harry thought back on his adventures. "Absolutely. Wait until you hear about it."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Note:<strong>_ We approach the end. Short chapter, I know. And don't give up on me just yet, there is a short epilogue chapter to follow.

For Talmon's wife, I was thinking more along the lines of the Longbottoms for my inspiration with her. His wife got her memory zapped with no means of recovery. As a result, she's very much a shell of a person - lacking emotion, true feelings, and rational thought. For someone who was at the pinnacle of professional success to be toppled by a foolish error and a genuine accident... well, that's tough.

I might have let Talmon off the hook, too, if he hadn't hurt Elizabeth ;)

Additionally, another little author's tidbit. I mentioned earlier that I enjoy putting little "homages" to other kinds of characters and such in my works (some might call it poor writing, I call it homages). Atherton is based slightly off another minor villain from a TV show I enjoy. (His name, wealth, and stuck-up jerk attitude were "borrowed"). And here's a hint: "Mercy is the mark of a great man."

For all you lurkers who still want to know who Justin is, who Atherton is, and who my other homages are... I'll post answers at the end of the epilogue so you're not all left in the dark forever.


	14. The Other Side of the Coin

_Epilogue: The Other Side of the Coin_

Two weeks later, Harry Potter sat back in his office chair, reading the _Daily Prophet_ with a secretive smile on his face. _Minister Appoints Lucius Malfoy Head of Ministry Relations._ There was a nice, moving photo of Shacklebolt shaking Malfoy's hand, the latter looking around with a smug smile on his face. A flashy banner in the background displayed the groundbreaking ceremony of the new wing of the Ministry – the Department of Ministry Relations, of which Lucius Malfoy would lead.

Harry's grin grew wider as he noticed Ron nudging him in the photo, then motioning to Lucius. There was a knowing smirk on both of their faces. The three of them had been seated on the stage as representatives of the Magical Artifacts branch of the Aurors. Ron had leaned over to quip that now Lucius Malfoy _definitely_ owed them for life (which the elder Malfoy overheard and promptly leveled a dirty glare in their direction) when the photographer snapped the photo.

It was true, though. Harry, Ron, and Hermione all penned a truthful account of what happened overseas and made sure to include copious details not only concerning Lucius Malfoy's assistance, but also that of Justin Moretti and the American branch in general.

Not that Kingsley Shacklebolt believed them.

He summoned them to his office, cast several spells on them to ensure they were not Befuddled, and then demanded they have a seat and tell him the _entire_ story.

Which they did.

Only then was he convinced.

Needless to say, Minister Shacklebolt frowned over the current treatment of Malfoy by his employees (though Harry thought he caught a muttered remark about Lucius Malfoy getting a taste of his own potions). However much as he disliked the man, Shacklebolt was nothing if not a proponent for fair and equal treatment for everyone. And after Hermione shrilly lectured him for nearly five minutes on such a topic, he caved.

Harry thought he was very prudent for agreeing with Hermione so quickly.

Shacklebolt revealed that he had been planning the expansion of the Ministry. The Magical Artifacts branch was something of a test to see how it worked. Since their successful mission overseas, Shacklebolt had been toying with the idea of opening the Department of Ministry Relations. According to him, the new department would help shape, maintain, promote, and market a positive image of the Ministry. Additionally, it would support other departments with communication material useful for recruitment. Begrudgingly, Harry had to admit the role fit Lucius Malfoy perfectly. He may be shunned by the Ministry, but a good portion of the wizarding world still respected his family's name. After hearing their story, Shacklebolt dismissed them, called Lucius Malfoy into his office, and offered him the position. All in one day.

Now that it was official, Harry wondered if it was a bit of a bad idea. After all, having Lucius Malfoy in a position of power once more could prove... dangerous. He could manipulate the media, sway potential recruits, and have his hand essentially in nearly every department in the Ministry.

Harry thought about it.

Well, it wasn't anything Malfoy couldn't do already. He still had influence (and money) plenty enough to sway people to his side. In fact, Harry wondered why he hadn't just bought his way back into society like he did after the first war.

His musings were interrupted by the appearance of that very man. Lucius Malfoy stood in the doorway to his office, looking around at the clutter with disdain.

"Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Malfoy?" asked Harry.

Lucius held up several sheets of paper. "I started working on the recruitment information for Hogwarts. As a thank you for helping me, I did the Auror department first." He walked over to Harry's desk and handed him the stack of papers.

Harry expected a simple, half-hearted attempt on the adverts. What he didn't expect to see was his face enlarged to fill nearly the entire page with the phrase _Join the Aurors! Fight evil with Harry Potter!_ emblazoned above his moving image.

"W-what?" Harry sputtered. "You can't have this as our recruitment poster!"

"Why not? It's good advertising," Lucius replied with an air of innocence, his face smoothed into an impassive expression.

"This isn't what the Aurors do," Harry insisted.

"They don't fight evil?"

"You know what I mean!"

To his surprise, Lucius chuckled. "Relax, Potter. You agitate too easily."

"I agitate too easily?" Harry repeated, his voice rising slightly. "After all we did to help you restore your 'good name'."

Lucius withdrew his wand from his cane. "Potter," he commanded, "I said relax." He waved his wand and the papers morphed in Harry's hands.

Instead of the garish print adorning the fliers, now it proclaimed in professional lettering: _The Aurors – a Division of the Magical Law Enforcement Department_. Underneath, it listed a general job description and below that it headlined the Department of Magical Artifacts branch with another short description.

The other papers in his hands were pamphlets to be distributed to Hogwarts students. They recommended classes to take in the 5th year and 7th year with specific requirements listed on each for joining the Aurors after graduation.

Harry had to admit – they looked spectacular.

"Thank you," he began, looking up. But Lucius Malfoy had already departed. He smiled, setting the pamphlets aside to show Ron and Hermione. Maybe endorsing Lucius Malfoy wasn't such a bad idea after all.

* * *

><p>Neal poked his head into Peter's office at the very moment Lucius Malfoy entered Harry's.<p>

"Still working on the four from England?" he asked.

Peter looked up from his computer. "How did you know?"

Neal stepped inside and shrugged. "You have that look on your face. Since we just finished up the other case, there's nothing to occupy your mind with but the mystery of those four."

Peter pursed his lips. "Yeah," he admitted. "I just can't shake the feeling we're missing something."

"What?" Neal asked, settling himself down in the chair in front of Peter's desk. "NYPD verified their claim about Talmon, right?"

At the mention of Talmon, Peter's brow furrowed and his frown deepened. "They did," he agreed. "But something about that is fishy. For one, when I went back there to get a visual on the body, they said it had been moved to a funeral home."

"So?"

"So the body had already been claimed and cremated by the time I arrived."

"Suspicious, but not illegal. Peter, the NYPD released the body."

"I know. But the NYPD have no pictures of Talmon's body. 'Lost in transition' or some other such nonsense."

"You think that it wasn't Talmon who died?"

Peter sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "No, I showed pictures of him taken at that ball we all attended and all the officers confirmed his identity."

Neal leaned forward, intrigued. "So what's the problem?"

"It's all just a bit too suspicious."

"But Talmon checked out. And so did the four from England. Well, the three did."

Peter narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean the three did?"

"Peter. I checked them out personally. Their records came back exactly as they said."

"You said three. What about the fourth?"

"That Lucius Malfoy fellow?" Neal shrugged. "He had no record."

Peter pointed to Neal. "And that is what bothers me," he finished. He pulled out a sheet of paper from his desk drawer. "No record of birth, schooling, or health anywhere in the United Kingdom."

Neal thought a moment. "Malfoy mentioned his son was a school rival of Harry's. Maybe you could-"

"Cross-reference their school with the name 'Malfoy' and see if I get any hits?" Peter finished. "Done and no hits."

"Well..." Neal trailed off as he stuck a hand in his jacket and withdrew a business card. "Harry _did_ say to call if we're ever in England. Fancy a trip overseas?"

"Impossible," Peter said immediately. "We don't have time for a vacation. And might I remind you that England is most definitely out of your two-mile radius?"

"I could go if I was escorted, right?" Neal asked with such innocence that Peter studied him with suspicion.

"What is going on?" he demanded.

Neal assumed an air of injured pride. "What makes you think anything is going on?"

Just then, Diana opened the door. "Boss, you're never gonna believe this."

"Try me," Peter said evenly, shooting a glare at Neal.

"Interpol called. They're requesting our help on a case they have. Well, they specifically asked for Neal, but Hughes explained it took three agents to watch him."

Peter felt a growing dread. "What case?"

"A 17th century tapestry was uncovered in a monastery. They're worried it might be a fake."

"And they need Neal for that?"

"They said that Neal was the last person to see it before it disappeared."

Peter was almost afraid to ask the next question, especially with Diana beaming with excitement and Neal grinning like a Cheshire cat.

He gulped, practically feeling an invisible trap descend upon him. "Where?"

"London!" Diana exclaimed. "We get to go to London!"

He knew it.

He looked at Neal, who wiggled Harry's business card with a smirk.

Maybe they could solve two mysteries while over there. Peter smiled at the thought.

"I guess we should inform Jones, then," he said at last.

Neal grinned. Diana squeaked and ran from the doorway. Peter sighed. He hoped this next case wouldn't be as eventful as the last one. But, somehow, he doubted it.

_The End_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Note: <strong>_ First off, no, I don't currently have a sequel planned. I just have no plot ideas at the moment. I have _some_ ideas, but not enough to meld into an official story. If I do start a story, I will finish it first just like I did for this one before posting a single chapter online. Check my profile for updates, as that is where I will post information if I should decide to do a sequel (much like I updated the progress reports for this story for those of you who followed my profile from April to July).

Secondly, a few 'thank you's. A humongous THANK YOU! to my beta LetheSara, for putting up with my frantic Thursday night emails of "I need my chapter back by tomorrow!" and other such trivialities I agonized over for the last two months. You started out as a semi-beta and turned into a full-fledged beta and made my writing so much stronger because of it. Thank you!

Thank you to AliWC, my first reviewer and the only one to consistently review each and every chapter. Your words of praise I looked forward to every week, much as I'm sure you looked forward to each chapter.

For my two semi-regulars, Tzadikim and Afsu, thank you for all of your reviews as well! The three of you left reviews that pointed out some of the details I wrote that I was glad to see were appreciated, as well as plot twists and general discussion about chapters. I got a lot of enjoyment out of reading your theories and was glad to see at least my plot twists and turns weren't entirely predictable (which I was afraid of).

Also, thank you to Kickassia, Team Rosalie, enchantedlight, shrutip, and Lady Drama for leaving a review! I can watch the hit counter go up all day, but unless I get feedback I never know if people actually enjoyed this or they just gave up after the first chapter. Thank you for all of your reviews!

A weird shout-out to my very first "crossover" fan, who has read another of my stories before this one: Conan's best deduction. (You guys think I don't check who puts my stories on alert or favorites them do you? :P) I don't know if you liked my writing style and followed me or if it was just a coincidence that you stumbled across two stories in two different media, but you're the first person that I know of to have read more than one of my works.

Thank you to everyone who put this story on their favorites and alerts, even if you didn't review, because that meant I knew that at least that many people were looking forward to the next chapter I posted.

To the answers I promised the previous chapter: Justin is based on Justin Russo from _Wizards of Waverly Place_ (don't sue me, Disney!) He's my favorite character on there because he's smart and clever and still makes a meaningful contribution to the show. Sure he's portrayed as a nerd, but everyone on the show is portrayed as dorky at some points. However, when things get tough or go haywire, Justin's usually the one to sort them out. I like that.

Atherton is based on Atherton Wing from the _Firefly_ episode "Shindig".

Ian Harrington is a combination of the first and last names from two of my British friends (so no, I didn't pick "typical" British names, I actually know these people). Apollz (from Professor Apollz in Justin's memory) is the online alias of British friend who offered graciously to review my story to help make sure I didn't fudge up with any accidental American sayings/words when it was from one of the British character's points-of-view.

Thanks for all of the support, I had an absolute blast writing this story and I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I did. (Gosh, this author's note is longer than the actual chapter, isn't it?)


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